


we don't talk very much (we just fake being nice)

by cori_the_bloody



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-22 10:31:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6075930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cori_the_bloody/pseuds/cori_the_bloody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Though she’d literally fallen from the sky, Clarke never felt like an alien on earth till she’d started living in Polis."<br/><br/>Clarke's trying to put aside her past and her anger so she can adjust to her new life. Lexa wants to help, but she has to earn Clarke's trust back first. Set after "Ye Who Enter Here."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or the universe, just having fun with them.  
>  **Author's Note:** First and foremost, I'd like to thank the delightful [tk](http://tkross.tumblr.com/) for her thoughtful beta skills. <3  
>  So, yeah, Clexa has taken over my life. They have a beautiful love, and I want to write about it forever. I know that, miraculously, they're treated very very well on the show. They don't really _need_ any kind of canon-insert fix-it, but this fic came into my head and it seemed fun, so I went with it. It's set after "Ye Who Enter Here" and it's more or less just a different version of how canon could have gone.
> 
> This first chapter doesn't actually contain much Clarke and Lexa interaction, but I promise to make up for that in spades throughout the rest of the story. Enjoy! 
> 
> Oh, and if you're feeling so inclined, come say hi or drop an ask over at my [tumblr](http://catty-words.tumblr.com/)!

“This has to stop,” Clarke says, storming into the throne room brandishing the box of crayons she’d found in her room that morning.

The guards had given up questioning her every entrance days ago. Lexa always commanded she be let through anyway.

“Clarke,” Lexa says, nodding her head once in greeting. “I’m in the middle of trade negotiations with the Plains Raiders, but I’d be happy to meet with you after business has been conducted.”

Clarke’s nostrils flare at the dismissal. “Very well. I’ll wait.”

With a twitch of her eyebrow, Lexa turns back to the Plaikru’s ambassador. “Tell Head Farmer Binah that our winters are harsher than yours, and his price for cotton is too steep. We will continue discussions when you bring me more reasonable demands.”

The ambassador is about to protest when Lexa waves him off. He snarls at Clarke on his way out of the room.

She scowls, unimpressed, and then turns her attention back to the Commander.

“You have something you wish to discuss?” Lexa asks, standing from her throne.

“I know you’re the one who keeps leaving things in my room.”

It started the day after the summit, Lexa’s touching-yet-tiresome generosity.

Clarke had walked into her room after her morning visit to the bathing chamber to find a small, flowering plant on the windowsill. Her eyes had been drawn to the burst of yellow right away despite the flower’s immaturity.

Yesterday, after making an offhand comment about never feeling warm enough in this godforsaken, drafty tower, she’d found a pair of fur-lined, leather slippers tucked under her bed.

Today, it’s the tiny, latched box, inside of which Clarke had found a row of richly colored sticks the consistency of wet clay, and a clearly homemade book of parchment.

Lexa sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and glides down the steps to stand in front of Clarke. “I only wish to make you feel welcome here. I know this transition has been uncomfortable for you.”

She couldn’t deny that. Though she’d literally fallen from the sky, Clarke never felt like an alien on earth till she’d started living in Polis.

It didn’t help that everything felt foreign to her: the people, the buildings, her job, her room. She’s not sure how much more novelty she can take. It’s overwhelming, and she often finds herself fantasizing about the insects that existed before the nuclear war—millipedes, she thinks they were called. They would curl in on themselves when they felt stressed or threatened, and Clarke’s feeling plenty of both.

“You know what makes me uncomfortable?” Clarke says, pushing the distressed thoughts from her mind. “The pressure to be okay with this. I’m here because I need to be, but I can’t...”

The intensity of Lexa’s gaze trips her up, and the angry words get caught in her throat. Shaking the haze from her head, she sucks in air through her nose and stands up straighter.

“I don’t owe you an explanation, alright? I just need you to stop with the gifts.”

After slamming the box of crayons down on a nearby table, she turns to tramp out of the room.

“You shouldn’t isolate yourself. It isn’t good for you.”

Lexa’s voice is impossibly soft, but it stops Clarke in her tracks all the same.

She turns around and raises a pointed eyebrow. “Look who’s talking.”

Lexa gulps and averts her eyes.

“Thought so,” Clarke says. “Besides, I’m not alone. I’ve got a plant for company.”

With that, she stalks off.

###

For the next few days, Clarke only sees the Commander during official meetings. She knows she should be satisfied that Lexa’s giving her space, but she mostly just feels grumpy… lonely.

When she wakes up to a sunny day off, Clarke forces herself outside, hoping some time in the sun will bolster her crummy mood.

As loud and confusing as it is, the market is one of the only good things about her new life in Polis. Nobody really seems to notice her as she weaves through the vendor stands—blending easily into the throngs of people—and there’s just _so much_ to marvel at. Barrels teeming with bright and sweet foods. Displays of beaded jewelry. Dried and smoked meats by the pouch. Bleached animal bones and other trinkets that supposedly bring you good fortune.

Clarke would almost feel at peace if it weren’t for the moisture in the air. She can practically feel her hair’s volume increasing, and the padded jacket she’s wearing is sticking to her back.

She’s been told there’s a bay that’s a sight to behold just a short horseback ride from the heart of town, but Clarke’s not sure she has the courage to come back if she leaves, even for a measly day trip.

“Wanheda,” Indra greets, coming up on her side and making her jump. “Doing your own shopping, I see.”

She stifles the urge to cringe at the title, and asks, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“The Commander’s done you favor after favor and you continue to make life difficult for her and for everyone.”

Clarke snorts and rolls her eyes. “Is that an answer?”

Indra crosses her arms and smiles condescendingly. “It’s a riddle. Have fun solving it, Wanheda. I sure haven’t been able to.”

“Dunno why you’d expect me to solve your brainteasers,” Clarke says, sneering. “Everything about this place is a puzzle to me.”

She pats Indra on the shoulder and walks back in the direction of the tower.

Honestly, why does she even bother?

###

Lexa stops by Clarke’s room the next morning as she’s watering her plant, which she’s taken to calling Sol.

Clarke knows it’s Lexa before she knocks because she can see her through the glass door.

“Come in,” she says.

Lexa enters, a bemused smile on her face. “I see plants, as well as people, flourish under your care.”

Clarke strokes the petal of a just-bloomed flower and doesn’t bother pointing out that she has nothing better to do than pay attention to the stupid plant all day.

“Is there a reason you’re here?”

Lexa gulps, averting her eyes for a moment. “A team of Skaikru officials volunteered to survey Polis and suggest improvements.”

“I know. I was there when we voted about sharing technologies, Lexa.”

Lexa tilts her chin up, wavering briefly before standing up straight and hardening her gaze. Clarke feels a chill settle in the pit of her stomach.

“I thought you’d be interested to know they’ve just arrived,” Lexa says, all business, and then sweeps from the room.

Clarke swallows over the lump in her throat. How is it that every interaction with Lexa, no matter how short, triggers an emotional typhoon?

Choosing not to dwell on the tangled mess that is her feelings, she grabs her boots and heads for the edge of town.

The Arker’s rover is rolling up to the perimeter and slows to a stop as soon as the driver spots Clarke.

Kane jumps out and offers her a fond smile. “Clarke! Good to see you.”

She falls into his outspread arms for a hug. “Familiar faces are always welcome,” she says, sighing. His warm embrace is more comforting than expected and she finds herself lingering. When they finally pull away from each other, she asks, “Is my mom with you?”

“Unfortunately, she had to stay behind. There’s been an outbreak of the flu back at Arkadia, and she has her hands full.”

Clarke nods, trying to smother her disappointment in mature understanding.

Before Kane can comment further, she’s blindsided by another hug.

“I can’t believe you’re alive, you asshole.” Raven squeezes her so tight she can’t breathe then releases Clarke so she can land a punch to her arm. “I can’t believe you took off without saying goodbye and then pledged your loyalty to the Grounders without fucking radioing or writing me or something.”

“Um, ow,” Clarke says.

“Language,” Kane says.

“Well?” Raven demands.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Clarke winces.

Raven snorts and shakes her head. “Same old Griffin.”

“And I didn’t pledge my loyalty to the Grounders.”

“Staying in Polis as an ambassador, pledging your loyalty…same difference, really.”

Clarke can’t help her amused laughter. “I missed you.”

Raven sizes her up, maybe trying to decide if she’s still miffed, but then smiles softly. “Me too.”

Clarke slings her arm over Raven’s shoulders and starts leading her friends toward town. “How long are you guys here?”

“Most of these losers go back tonight. They’re just here for supplies,” Raven says. “I’ll be around for a few days, though.”

“You can stay in my room,” Clarke says eagerly.

“Slumber party. I’m down. Besides, I’ve probably slept in stranger places before.”

“Don’t be too sure,” she says under her breath.

They part ways when they get to the center of town. Kane takes some kids with him to the market, and Titus meets up with Raven and the other technically-minded Arkers to take them on a tour of the city.

And Clarke? Alone and restless, Clarke finds herself back in her room with nothing to do.

“I gotta get me a hobby, huh Sol?”

Predictably, the plant doesn’t answer. Since she’s low on options, Clarke decides it’s time for a nap.

That evening, when she gets back from dinner in the Grand Hall, Raven’s already in the room bouncing up and down on her bed.

“Okay, is it too late to take the Grounder pledge? Because I’m into this.”

“Ha, ha…it’s not all glamorous.”

“Looks better than watching people explode all around you.”

“I heard about that,” Clarke says, hanging her head. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

“They have bars here,” Clarke says suddenly. “Wanna get drunk?”

Raven cocks an eyebrow at her, and she squirms under the scrutiny.

“What the hell,” Raven says after a moment. “Let’s get wasted.”

###

Giggling and leaning heavily on each other for balance, Raven and Clarke stand at the bottom of the ridiculously steep and precarious tower staircase.

“Shit girl,” Raven says, patting Clarke’s cheek a few times. “I am in no shape to lug my ass up all those.”

“Okay…okay…okay.”

“You broken there?”

Clarke scoffs, offended, but then bursts into laughter when Raven sticks her tongue out. “ _No_. Okay, here, I got an idea.” She takes a step back and holds her arms out. “I’ll carry you.”

Raven balks. “I don’t trust your skinny little arms to get the job done either.”

“Hey now. Hey. Look, I exercise. I’m the commander of death or whatever. I’ll get you up the stairs. I _will_.”

Raven raises a skeptical eyebrow but then nods, determined, and propels her body forward and up.

She doesn’t aim high enough for Clarke to catch her, though. There’s a moment of fumbling, and they end up tangled and crying with laughter on the ground.

Clarke hears footsteps approaching, and suddenly there’s someone towering over them. She barely recognizes Lexa’s face through her tear-blurred vision.

“Someone reported a disturbance,” she says, pursing her lips.

“Is it usually the commander’s job to check up on that?” Clarke asks. She’s going for scathing disinterest, but her steeliness is lost in the drunken giggles.

“No, not usually,” Lexa says, barely contained amusement in her voice, and extends her hand. “Nice to see you again, Raven.”

“Oh yeah, sugar and spice.”

Lexa cocks her head in confusion and tugs Clarke to her feet as well. “How might I help you two?”

“We’ve had a lot of alcohol and Raven can’t climb the stairs.”

“I bet you can’t either,” Raven says, nudging Clarke with her elbow and nearly knocking her over again.

Lexa chuckles once and then ducks her head, almost as if expecting retaliation for trying to join in on their fun.

After clearing her throat, she says, “I have the solution. Raven is hardly the first person with a debilitating physical injury to stay here, and we have a crude elevator set up in the north wing. It does have a strict weight limit, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to take the stairs.”

“Oh, of course,” Clarke says.

At the same time, Raven grunts and says, “You couldn’t have told me about the handicap exit five hours ago?”

“My orders were to make you as comfortable as possible. Who gave you the tour? They should have told you.”

“Whoa, whoa. Down girl. I was joking around.” Raven turns and makes a funny face at Clarke. “Have a fun hike, blondie.”

Smiling, Clarke watches the two girls pace away. Once they’re out of sight, the smile slips away, and she stands at the bottom of the ridiculously steep and precarious staircase, now alone.

After taking a deep breath to calm the spinning in her head, she starts the trudge up.

Raven’s alone and leaning in the window when Clarke finally makes it back, panting and sweaty and in desperate need of water.

“Nice plant ya got here,” Raven says.

“It was a gift from Lexa.”

Raven makes a humming sound in the back of her throat, but doesn’t say anything.

Clarke runs down the hall to fill a pitcher with water. Raven hasn’t moved by the time she gets back.

“You should drink,” Clarke says, pouring them both a glass.

“Do you ever miss home?” Raven asks, not taking her eyes off the night sky as she accepts the glass from Clarke.

“Oh, Raven, I don’t really think of Camp Jaha as home—er, I mean Arkadia. Or whatever it is you guys are calling it these days.”

“Me either.” Raven tears her eyes away from the stars long enough to roll them at Clarke. “I was talking about the Ark… as it was up there.”

“Oh. Yeah, I do. It’s funny,” Clarke says, letting her head fall back onto the rough brick wall. “There was so much I hated about living on the Ark. The way all the lights would make that buzzing sound…how the air smelled and tasted…how the space just never seemed like _enough_. But it was home, and I miss everything. Even the bad stuff.”

Raven’s nodding along. “But especially the good stuff.”

“Exactly,” Clarke says, snapping her fingers. “My parents. Chess with Wells.”

“My bed. How the expanse of the universe was always just a spacewalk away.”

Suddenly, Clarke starts tittering. “We’re really drunk right now,” she observes.

Raven laughs with her. “Guess we are. Ready to turn in?”

“Yeah. You take the bed. I slept on the couch my first couple days here in protest, and it’s surprisingly comfortable.”

They settle in, and the room is silent for several minutes.

“So you and Lexa huh?”

Clarke’s heart lurches and then starts racing in her chest. “What? Why the hell would you say that?”

“You guys have always had this weird—I don’t know—intimacy, I guess.”

“Lexa and I are _not_ intimate.”

Raven snorts. “Fine, fine. Maybe it’s one sided, but I definitely get the vibe that she’d be on it in a second if you asked.”

Clarke feels blood rush to her face and she cups her hands over her eyes. “Please stop talking.”

“I’m just saying, in the elevator she was talking about you like you’re the second coming.”

“I can’t be the second coming. There’s been no coming of any kind.”

Raven guffaws and a pillow hits the top of Clarke’s head before falling to the floor with a thud. “But you _have_ thought about taking her to bed? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you really. The war paint look is intense, but I could see how that’d get it done for a person.”

“Why is this a topic of conversation?” Clarke moans, grabbing the pillow and dropping it on top of her head.

“This is what girls do at slumber parties, Clarke. Have you never had female friends?”

“I’ve had female friends,” she says defensively.

“Then you know I’m not dropping this till you spill the beans. C’mon. I’m just curious.”

“I’m…we…it’s complicated,” Clarke says with a sigh.

“Ah- _ha_! I knew it.” Silence. Then, “She’s the reason Finn is dead.”

“I said it was complicated, didn’t I? And, technically, that death is on me.”

“I know.” Raven pauses, and when she talks again her voice is quiet and fiery. “I still kinda hate you for that.”

“That makes two of us,” Clarke whispers back.

“I understand why you did it; it made a sick kinda sense. But I still hate it.”

“I know. Thanks for being my friend anyway.”

“We’ve seen some shit, Griffin. That tends to bond people.”

Neither of them says anything else. They wade through all the blood on their hands in silence till sleep mercifully drags them under.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or the universe, just having fun with them.  
>  **Author's Note:** Thank you, thank you, thank you to [tk](http://tkross.tumblr.com/) for her astounding ability to smooth out the narrative when I use too many words. That really came in handy this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy chapter two, where the plot thickens and clexa flirts relentlessly. Feedback here or at my [tumblr](http://catty-words.tumblr.com/) is always appreciated. :)

“Well, here we are,” Clarke says as she and Raven approach Polis’s city limits.

“Yup,” Raven says, hiking her bag up on her shoulder and pouting out her lower lip. “You better fucking keep in touch this time.”

Clarke snorts. “I will.”

“I’m serious. If you don’t, I’m going to tell everyone at Arkadia that you joined the coalition for a shot at getting in the Commander’s pants.”

“You would _not_.”

“How about you don’t test me?” she says, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

“Deal.”

They both smile, and then Clarke closes the distance between them in a rush, wrapping her arms around Raven’s neck and nearly knocking them over. When the rover pulls up and the driver honks the horn, Clarke just hugs tighter.

“Take care of yourself,” she says in Raven’s ear.

“You too,” Raven says, rubbing Clarke’s back.

After a couple more seconds, they both pull apart.

Clarke watches as the car drives away, waving until it’s out of sight. With a sad sigh, she hikes back into town.

Since she really doesn’t want to return to her lonely room, Clarke finds herself lingering at the market, drawn to the weapons and trinkets on display in the blacksmith’s hut.

It’s pretty early in the morning—and the crowds are still thin—so she catches sight of Lexa right away. She’s darting through the market aisles wearing a conspicuous bonnet, her head ducked.

Curious, Clarke abandons the pieces of armor she’s looking at to follow after the Commander.

Even though she’s been waking up before the sun and jogging through the sleeping streets of Polis each morning, she’s panting and her legs ache by the time Lexa comes to a stop on the outskirts of town. The Commander surveys the scene to make sure no one’s watching, and Clarke quickly ducks around the edge of a crumbly building to avoid detection.

After counting to ten under her breath, she peeks her head back around.

Lexa's gone without a trace.

“Fuck,” she swears under her breath.

Weaving around a group of children, Clarke runs across the street to where Lexa had been standing. Though there's a light breeze in the air whipping up dust, she notices the suggestion of footprints leading down a shadowed alley.

With a quick glance around to make sure nobody's following her, Clarke slips into the darkness and inches along the wall of a building until she hears voices.

“You know the deal.” Lexa's voice—sharp as knives—cuts through the thudding of Clarke's heart in her ears. “I alone do not have the power to lift your banishment. You will take half the payment now, the rest when the job is finished, and you will be satisfied with that.”

“What if I've raised my price, dearest _Heda_?” a high-pitched, nasally voice responds.

“Then I will easily find another desperate Wastelander to do the job for half the reward.”

Clarke barely swallows, straining to catch every word.

“I dunno…assassinating Queen Nia is no small job. You really think you can find someone else to do it?”

With a gasp, Clarke inches forward, trying to pinpoint where the voices are coming from without revealing herself.

“Do you really wish to test me?” Lexa asks scathingly.

When Clarke realizes the voices are floating out over her head, she looks up. There's a cracked window just above her....

She rises carefully onto the tips of her toes just in time to see the assassin sigh and reluctantly shake Lexa's hand.

The first thing she notices is the dealings are being conducted in what appears to be an unused classroom. The second thing is the assassin’s nose.

Namely that it’s not really there.

The flesh that would normally jut out from a human face looks like it’s been melted like candle wax. A swirly maze of tattoos starts on either side of the assassin’s collapsed nostrils, traces along the cheek bones, and then meets on her forehead.

A quiet cry of surprise escapes her lips before Clarke is able to get a handle on her complete and utter shock. She ducks out of view just as Lexa’s eye are drawn to the window.

“I believe we’re done. Meet me in this location after sunset in ten days.”

“Fine.”

Clarke’s mind is racing with questions when Lexa steps out into the alley several feet in front of her, pulling the bonnet back over her head. She scrambles to her feet and catches Lexa’s wrist before the Commander steps out into the sun.

“What the hell was that?”

“Clarke,” Lexa says, a hint of weariness in her voice. “I suppose I’m not surprised.”

“Good, then you can skip right to explaining yourself.”

Lexa levels her with an incredulous and penetrating stare. “I do not owe you an explanation. Queen Nia is treacherous, and the coalition will be better for her death.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, though I’ll get to that,” Clarke says. Lexa rolls her eyes toward the sky. “Who was that girl…what happened to her?”

“The flora and fauna weren’t the only living things to be mutated by radiation, Clarke.”

She tries to gulp down the revelation but it gets lodged in her throat like the large, cylindrical Vitamin D pills Abby made her take every month back on the Ark.

Lexa nods once, her eyes softening sympathetically.

They’re quiet for a moment. Then Clarke remembers the rest of her questions. “Who are the Wastelanders?”

Lexa gulps and averts her gaze. “I think the truth will make you mad.”

Clarke cocks her eyebrow. “I’m already mad, Lexa. Earn my trust back. Tell me the truth even if it’s bad.”

She nods. “Very well. Let’s walk and talk.” They step out into the sunlight together, and Lexa takes a deep breath before explaining. “The genetic mutations are very undesirable. There’s no advantage to being born with one, and my people consider those suffering from transfigurations to be blemishes on our bloodline. Many years ago, it was agreed that all mutated individuals be banished to avoid perpetuating the imperfections. We call those banished Wastelanders.”

“How many people are born like that?”

“We don’t really keep track, Cla—”

“How. Many.”

“I honestly have no way of knowing.”

“Make an educated guess. How many people are you condemning to a terrible and harsh life just because you don’t like the way they look?”

“I told you, the ruling passed many years ago. I wasn’t even born when these decisions were made.”

“But you are the Commander, and you’re not doing anything to change the way things are, are you?”

“Clarke, I have enough battles to manage. I will not start an unwinnable war with my own people.”

“How do you know you wouldn’t win if you’ve never even brought it up?”

“Do not underestimate the power of prejudice that’s had generations upon generations to root itself in place.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow and she stomps her foot. “But it’s wrong. Doesn’t that _mean_ anything to you?”

Lexa stops beside her and looks Clarke right in the eye. “Of course right and wrong mean something to me. But I learned long ago that there is much more to each individual choice than a right and wrong option. I do the most good I can, Clarke. That is all I can do.”

Clarke eyelashes flutter and she drops her gaze to the ground. “Right. I guess I get that.”

Lexa reaches out to Clarke, but then thinks better of it and lets her arm fall back to her side. “Thank you,” she whispers.

They start walking again.

“So what’s with the hitman?”

Lexa bites back a smile. “As I said, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You play dirty, you know that? An assassination. Seems, I don’t know, skeevy to me.”

“Being a leader means knowing when to deploy extreme measures. Nia has been stirring up trouble in neighboring clans and people are frightened. Many will be put at ease by her death.”

“I thought you weren’t going to explain yourself?” Clarke grins.

Lexa juts her chin out defiantly. “I’m not.”

She glances at Clarke out of the corner of her eye. When their eyes lock, both girls smile.

After a moment of walking in silence, Lexa grows serious. “You mustn’t tell anyone.”

Clarke sighs. “You got it, Commander.”

“This is serious. I could—”

“Don’t worry,” Clarke says. “I’ve gotten _really good_ at bottling things up.”

###

Later that day, Clarke sets off on an after-dinner walk.

Sharing a room with Raven for a few days had forced Clarke to get out more, and she’s fallen into a pleasant—if mostly solitary—schedule.

Part of her new routine includes tiny expeditions into the woods surrounding Polis. She’s getting to know her new home better, and spending a few hours an evening in the balmy forest puts Clarke at ease.

As she’s heading for the tree line, a familiar voice calls out to her.

“Clarke? Clarke!”

She whips around and sees Bellamy jogging up to her.

“Hey,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”

He nods stiffly, and Clarke feels her insides twist uncomfortably. They didn't exactly part on great terms the last time they saw each other.

“What’re you doing in town?” she asks.

Bellamy shifts, his eyes scanning the crowds of people. “I'm meeting with the Commander, actually.”

“What? Why?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Just conducting some business.”

She bristles at his superior tone. “ _I'm_ the Skaikru ambassador. If you want something put before the council, you should tell _me_ about it. Lexa has better things to do than meet with every person on earth who needs something from her.”

“Oh, she's _Lexa_ now, is she? Not Betrayer?”

Clarke makes a show of rolling her eyes. “That's dumb; we never called her that.”

Bellamy ignores her. “And since when are we _Skaikru_?”

“Since we joined the coalition…why do I get the feeling you’re attacking me?”

Instead of answering her, he reaches out and pinches one of Clarke’s braids between his fingers. “I can’t believe it. You really are one of them now. I thought having to spend so much time with these people would force you to come to your senses, but it looks like that’s not going to happen.”

She swats his hand away. “I’m one of you, too. And together we’re a ‘we’.”

Bellamy frowns and cocks his head.

“You know what I mean: the Grounders and the Arkers aren’t separate entities anymore.”

He shakes his head and turns away from her. “You are so naive.”

She darts after him, easily cutting him off. “Jeeze, when did you become such an asshole?”

“When the Grounders blew up my girlfriend.”

“That was the Ice Nation.”

He huffs.

“They don’t act on behalf of all the Grounders, Bellamy. Most of these people are peaceful. They have strange customs, sure, but they mean well. Besides, I bet the way we behave throws them for a loop sometimes, too.”

He shifts his gaze from the ground to her eyes. For a beautiful second, Clarke believes she’s convinced him.

But then he sneers. “Standing with the Grounders means condoning everything they've done to us, and I can't do that. You wanna play political roulette? Then go ahead and tell Lexa we didn’t appreciate her sending an ambush to Arkadia for me.”

“Those soldiers were sent to protect you guys from attack, not to invade.”

“Whatever. From now on, I take down any Grounder that comes to camp unannounced.”

“Bellamy.”

“That goes for you, too. I don't know who you are anymore, but you sure as hell aren't one of my people, _Wanheda_.”

Clarke jerks away from him, feeling like she’s been kicked in the gut.

He flashes her a self-satisfied grin and then saunters away.

###

Clarke’s trying to pay attention while her fellow ambassadors discuss the plans for some upcoming special occasion— _Badannes Sintaim_ —she really is. But she spent all night replaying the conversation with Bellamy in her head instead of sleeping, and all her energy is being used to keep her heavy eyelids from sliding shut.

Plus, it’s not like she has anything to contribute to the conversation. Nobody's bothered to explain the Grounder customs to her…as per usual.

“Point of order!” Titus says, effectively putting a stop to all the side discussions. “We’ll surely take all these suggestions into consideration, and everyone will be given a finalized itinerary to relay back to your respective clans.”

“Thank you, Titus,” Lexa says, nodding her head once in his direction. “If no one has any business they’d like to bring before the council, we will adjourn.”

Clarke snaps to attention then, adrenaline surging. “I have something I’d like to discuss, actually.”

The other ambassadors grumble and exchange pointed looks.

Lexa’s lips twitch. “Yes?”

Clarke shifts her gaze to the other members of the council.

“I think we should talk about lifting the Wastelanders’ banishment.”

The response is immediate: every person in the room starts yelling. Some of it’s directed at Clarke, some of it’s not, and she’s only able to make out a few choice phrases.

The outraged snippets she does catch make her grateful she doesn’t hear the rest, though.

“Silence!” Lexa’s voice reverberates through the throne room and creates a chilling hush. “Shall we put the issue to a vote?”

“I don’t see the point,” Ambassador Uzac says. “It’s a ridiculous proposition. It will never pass.”

“Then you have nothing to fear by honoring the democratic process,” Lexa says. “All in favor of lifting the Wastelanders’ banishment?”

Clarke’s hand shoots up, and she raises a pointed eyebrow at Lexa.

The Commander’s hands stay folded in her lap.

“All opposed?”

Everyone else in the room raises their hands.

“I believe the council has made its decision,” Lexa says, her eyes boring into Clarke. “This meeting is adjourned.”

She stays rooted in place as the others begin to file out, some of them purposefully knocking into her on their way.

Lexa raises an eyebrow at Clarke, who crosses her arms in response.

They stay locked in an intense and silent standoff until Titus is the only other person left in the room.

“Heda, we must go over—”

“There will be time enough later,” Lexa says, standing from her throne and walking to the center of the room. “Leave us.”

“I really think—”

“I will not ask a third time, Titus.”

Though his nostrils twitch in irritation, he bows at the waist before rushing from the room.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was _thinking_ that at least the mighty Commander would have my back.”

“How could I support such an impulsive and contentious proposal?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do!” Clarke says, surging forward and finding herself in Lexa’s personal space without meaning to get that close.

Lexa swallows once, her eyes darting down to Clarke’s lips and then back up to her eyes. “We talked about this, Clarke. My role restricts my ability to act as a free agent. I cannot do whatever I please, even if remaining silent is of questionable morality.”

“Right, but I _can_ speak out,” Clarke says, her voice shaking with fervor. “I can help you enact changes…changes for the better.”

“I’m afraid that’s not true. Yet.”

Clarke feels her brow furrow, and Lexa breaches the space between them for just a moment, brushing her fingertips across the back of Clarke’s hand before jerking away and crossing her arms behind her back.

“I risked the trust and respect of my people bringing Skaikru into the coalition—and I would do it again in a heartbeat—but I’m afraid the other ambassadors view you as a threat, a menace. If you wish for your policies to receive due consideration from the council, you will have to earn their acceptance.”

Clarke huffs in frustration and throws her hands up. “How am I supposed to do that?”

Lexa smiles kindly. “I wish I had the answer, but I do not. What I do have is faith that you’ll find a way to connect with them. There’s nothing Clarke Griffin can’t accomplish when she puts her mind to it.”

A blush rises in Clarke’s cheeks, and she bows her head, letting her hair fall around her face. “Thanks.”

They stand in silence for a few moments longer, all shy smiles and thrumming tension, and Clarke feels something lurch in her chest. For a second, she considers leaning in closer and—

Titus pokes his head into the room and clears his throat.

Lexa sighs and beckons him in, giving Clarke an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “I have…”

“Yeah. No. Totally. I should go…bond with my coworkers or water my plant or something. I’ll see you around.”

With a quirk of her lips and a nod, Lexa turns away from her.

Clarke leaves the throne room, her pulse pounding under every inch of her skin.

She feels decidedly awake.

###

Clarke’s mind is still buzzing with all things Lexa when she’s ambushed in the staircase.

Someone grabs her from behind and puts a knife to her throat. Her mind goes blank for one terrifying second, and then her instincts kick in.

With a scream, she lets her body fall backward, hoping to propel both her and her attacker down the steps.

“Shut up,” they say, hissing low in Clarke’s ear and regaining their footing. She knows the voice, but can’t place it in all her panic.

The knife is removed and a hand claps down over her mouth.

“We’re not going to kill you,” a second voice says. “The Commander wouldn’t like that.”

“No,” the first voice says. It sends an unnerved chill slithering down Clarke’s spine. “We just wanna teach you a lesson.”

She’s manhandled out of the stairway and into a small room she doesn’t recognize. Her captor slams her up against a wall, and she gets her first look at the attacker.

Uzac stands before her, twirling the knife menacingly in one hand and keeping Clarke pinned against the wall with his free arm. The Blue Cliff and Glowing Forest ambassadors are also there, glowering at her.

“What do you want?” she asks, hoping none of them hear the quaver in her voice.

“To teach you your place, _Clarke kom Skaikru_.” Uzac spits out her name like it’s rancid meat.

“I know my place. I’m an ambassador in the coalition, same as you.”

He runs the point of his knife down the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe so. But if you keep talking about things that don’t concern you, we’d be happy to replace you…make an example of you.”

“The Commander would have your heads.”

He makes a show of looking around the room. “You can’t hide behind the Commander, _Wanheda_. She’s not even here.”

Clarke’s nostrils flare. “I’m not scared of you.”

Uzac’s eyes gleam with intrigue and the other two ambassadors slink closer, boxing her in.

“Let’s see what we can do about that.”

###

Mere hours later, Clarke’s staring at her ceiling and trying to breathe steadily despite the stitch in her side.

The healer left several minutes ago, but she hadn’t needed anyone to tell her that one of her ribs is broken. She’d felt it crack.

The Commander crashes into the room suddenly, throwing the door against the wall so hard the glass splinters. “Who is responsible?” she thunders. “I will have them executed.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Clarke says, but her attempt at levity is lost in a pained wince as she tries to drag her body into a sitting position.

Lexa’s calculating eyes catch the expression, and she snarls. “ _Who_?”

“I didn’t see their faces,” she lies. “They attacked me from behind.”

“Then I will launch an investigation. I will question everyone in Polis, starting with the ambassadors, and I will find who did this to you.” Lexa starts pacing along the length of Clarke’s bed.

Clarke sighs. “Lexa.”

“I will cut out their tongues and rip off their fingernails and—”

“Lexa!”

The Commander halts.

“I don’t want any of that, okay? In fact, I want as few people to know about this as possible. Can we just drop it? Please?”

The steely façade falls by the wayside, and Lexa’s left standing there, naked worry shining in her eyes. “But they hurt you,” she whispers. “They could do it again.”

“I don’t think they will.” Clarke looks down at her hands twisted in her comforter. “They know an attack on me is an attack on you…they wouldn’t risk infuriating you further.”

“By that logic, they’d have never harmed you in the first place.”

Clarke secures a smile onto her face before looking up to meet Lexa’s gaze again. “I’m fine, okay?”

Lexa fixes her with a disbelieving look. “You cannot fool me, Clarke.”

“Okay, I’m scared and in pain, but I’m handling it.” Lexa opens her mouth to protest, but Clarke cuts her off. “If I get you to fight this battle, it’ll just prove everything they’ve assumed about me.”

Lexa blinks slowly, and Clarke can see she understands...no matter how unwilling she is to let the injustice go unavenged.

“I will call off the cavalry.”

“That’s a joke, right?”

Lexa smirks. “Yes, Clarke. I hadn’t yet assembled a team of warriors.” She tilts her chin up and her eyes shine playfully. “I was close though.”

“Of course.”

After running her eyes over the length of Clarke’s body, Lexa exhales through her nose. “You should rest. I will check on you in the morning.”

She’s nearly to the door before Clarke works up the courage to call her back.

“Lexa?”

She turns. “Yes?”

“Can you…” Clarke swallows hard, “stay for a bit?”

Lexa’s lips part in surprise.

“That suits me fine,” she says evenly, walking back to the center of the room.

She looks so unsure of what to do with herself that Clarke almost giggles. Instead, though, she pats the space next to her.

With a soft gasp, Lexa raises her eyebrows, silently asking Clarke if she’s sure.

Clarke nods.

Licking her lips and fidgeting with the collar of her shirt, Lexa glides over to the empty side of the bed.

She pauses again.

“God, Lexa, I’m telling you I’m okay with this,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes. “Just get up here.”

“That’s not why I…,” Lexa trails off with an amused smile. “Would you mind if I made myself more comfortable?” she asks, her cheeks turning pink as she gestures to her buckled cloak.

“Oh,” Clarke says, also blushing. “No, I-I don’t mind.”

Never breaking eye contact, Lexa kicks off her boots and quickly works the buckles on her armor. When it falls to the ground, she’s left in her black pants and a thin black tank top.

It’s strange, seeing Lexa without her usual Commander outfit. She looks smaller, slighter.

She looks vulnerable.

Swallowing down her surprise (and trying not to ogle), Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and steels herself for the shift in weight as Lexa climbs up onto the bed.

She settles stiffly next to Clarke, maintaining a respectful amount of space between them.

With a soft whine, Clarke circles her fingers around Lexa’s wrist and draws her arm up and around her shoulders before settling her head on Lexa’s chest.

The movement wrenches her body in such a way that her cracked rib pinches, though, and pain shoots through her.

She yelps softly and tries to sit back up, but Lexa keeps her rooted in place, instead scooting herself closer to make Clarke comfortable.

Once both of them have settled, Lexa combs a few fingers through her hair.

Clarke hums in appreciation and smiles to herself when Lexa’s heartrate speeds up ever so slightly.

It’s not long before she’s lulled to sleep by the steady pounding.

###

When she wakes the next morning, Lexa is gone.

The last thing Clarke remembers is asking the Commander to join her in bed.

_That_ and the tingly feeling in her scalp when Lexa ran her fingers through her hair, the satiny texture of Lexa’s skin, and the soothing warmth of being held throughout the night, of course.

Smiling, Clarke starts to roll over in bed, but then she’s reminded of why Lexa’d been in her room in the first place.

Her rib sears with pain and her entire body aches.

She lets out a low moan and stays perfectly still for a moment, breathing through clenched teeth. After mentally working herself up to it, Clarke shifts into a sitting position.

Hot tears pool in her eyes, and she lifts her shirt with trembling hands.

Her abdomen is covered in black and blue and yellow and red markings, but—thankfully—that’s the extent of the damage. So long as no one expects her to move really fast, she should be able to hide the injuries easily.

Laughing at herself, she slams a clenched fist on the small table next to her bed.

Her dad’s watch jumps and falls to the ground.

Cursing, Clarke wraps one arm around her waist and slowly, slowly leans down to retrieve the timepiece.

She employs all the willpower she has not to cry out as she sits back up, and it takes several moments of focused breathing before the pain fades enough for her to think clearly.

A tear rolls down her cheek as she opens her eyes.

The glass face of the watch is cracked.

Running a finger over the smooth surface, Clarke wonders why she’s even bothered to keep the memento. Everything it used to symbolize for her has been deconstructed…blown apart and stomped to bits.

Thinking of the hopeful girl who cherished the watch makes Clarke cry in earnest. Her cracked rib protests, but she can’t stamp down the sobs that keep bubbling up in her chest.

Everything she’d thought earth would be turned out to be a lie.

Everything she thought she knew about the lofty notions of right and wrong, good and bad means nothing in the face of the very real decisions she’s had to make…the very real consequences of those decisions.

It’s all so confusing, and she doesn’t know where she fits on the spectrum of good and bad. At best, she’s at a questionable place with leanings toward bad. At worst, she’s the murderer of hundreds of people.

Clarke realizes she doesn’t even know who she is anymore.

She’s not a Sky Person; Bellamy’s rejection of her had been unnecessarily harsh but not totally uncalled for.

She’s not a Grounder; her fellow ambassadors had gone through an awful lot of trouble to remind her of that.

So…who is she?

When Clarke’s tears slow and then run dry, a fierce determination is left in their wake.

Letting the pain fuel her resolve, Clarke gets out of bed, gets dressed, and makes her way into town.

There’s a hut on the fringes of the market, one that had caught her attention the first time she’d wandered through the bustling heart of Polis. Though she usually likes to take her time wandering through the aisles of vendors, Clarke marches toward the wooden shack with purpose, stopping for nothing.

The attendant is taken aback when she stomps up to the counter and slams down the watch.

“Can I help you?” the woman asks, weary.

“Yes. I’d like to trade this for a tattoo.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or the universe, just having fun with them.  
>  **Author's Note:** Thank you so much, [tk](http://tkross.tumblr.com/), for finding time in your busy life to look over this story. You make it so much better with such simple tweaks, and I am very grateful. 
> 
> This story was originally only going to be four chapters, but the words got away from me. So now there are five! The next chapter is completely written, too, so you can expect that soon. Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoy the chapter.

_Badannes Sintaim_ (also known as Loyalty Day) festivities are in full swing.

Though she’d attended all the other events—a heart-themed crafts session for kids that morning, brunch in the Grand Hall—Clarke is seriously considering skipping the final round of celebrations: a lavish dance in the tower ballroom.

It’s been a little over a week since she was attacked, but she’s still in a fair amount of discomfort. All the standing and smiling and putting on appearances today wore her out, and the only thing Clarke wants to do is nap.

Still, she knows it’s more important than ever for her to be seen actively participating. So she dresses in a black skirt that grazes the floor when she walks and a simple white t-shirt that hides the outline of her bandages before making her way to the dance hall.

The reception is just getting started when she walks in, but so many people are already crowding in the center of the room, twirling and swaying and bobbing along to the music.

Clarke does a sweep of the room. Though she tells herself it’s just to get a closer look at the shimmery decorations strung from the ceiling and otherworldly instruments being played by the band, she keeps a keen eye out for the Commander.

Lexa’s been suspiciously absent from the day’s proceedings.

Though people are friendly enough—some nodding and waving in greeting as Clarke passes—she finds herself alone after she finishes walking the length of the perimeter, leaning against the wall by the snack table and nursing a potently alcoholic drink.

She watches as one song blends seamlessly into another and people run on and off the dance floor, hugging partners close or giggling as friends show off their moves. Something aches deep in her chest, and Clarke finds herself guzzling her drink.

As the night wears on—and the alcohol slowly filters through her bloodstream—Clarke feels her entire body bopping to the beat of the music. For a few blissful songs, she even forgets she has any care in the world.

But then the music transitions from upbeat and jazzy to achingly sweet, and children hurry off the dance floor to make room for couples.

She stares into the depths of her cup as lovers pair off, clinging to each other as they sway slowly.

“Loyalty. Who needs it, am I right?” she grumbles to herself before tilting back her third mixed drink of the night and letting the alcohol slide down her throat with a lingering burn.

It’s mere chance that she glances at the ballroom entrance at the exact second Lexa drifts through.

At the sight of her in a velvety red and sleeveless gown—an obsidian shawl draped around her—Clarke’s heart thuds against her chest.

Lexa scans the room, nodding at a few people in acknowledgement before her eyes land on Clarke and light up eagerly. The corners of her lips turn up in a soft smile as she pushes her way through the mass of dancing couples.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” Lexa says over the noise.

Clarke’s eyes sweep greedily over the enticing slope of Lexa’s exposed shoulders, and she has to take a deep, steadying breath before responding, “I’ve been everywhere today. Where’ve _you_ been?”

“I had some business,” Lexa says before glancing around surreptitiously and leaning in. Her eyes are alight with triumph. “Nia is dead.”

It’s weird to see Lexa so happy over the loss of human life, but Clarke knows what this particular death means to her.

“That’s good,” she says, reaching out and squeezing Lexa’s forearm.

“It’s satisfying, at least,” Lexa amends, though she can’t keep the pleased smile off her face. “Of course, there’s still the people’s reaction to deal with. There may be backlash.”

“If there is, you’ll convince them this was all for the best. I know you will.”

Lexa rolls her shoulders back at the compliment but then winces apologetically. “I’m expected to mingle.”

“Oh, right. Duty calls.”

“I’ll come back.”

“Okay.” Clarke smiles. Her cheeks are already flush with drunkenness, but she still feels a rush of warmth as Lexa’s eyes bore into hers. “I’ll wait here.”

“I won’t be long,” Lexa promises, touching her fingertips to Clarke’s shoulder before turning away.

Clarke’s gaze follows the Commander as she floats around the room, a figure of magnanimity shaking people’s hands and making conversation.

She looks absolutely radiant, and Clarke feels like she’s burning up from the inside out.

Surely that’s the alcohol, though.

By the time Lexa comes back for Clarke, the party’s winding down. Most of the families have left and the band’s been playing the same simple melody for a while.

“You look tired,” Lexa says, examining Clarke’s face. “How’re you healing?”

“Pretty well, actually. I can even walk briskly without feeling like I’m gonna die.”

Lexa cocks her head, grinning with amusement. “That’s pleasing news.”

“Yup. And the bruising’s gone down. Wanna see?” She playfully reaches for the hem of her top.

Lexa’s eyes widen and color rushes into her cheeks as she grabs Clarke’s wrist, stopping her. “We should get you back to your room.”

“We? Does that mean I get an escort from the mighty Commander?”

Lexa smirks and holds out her arm. “Only because you’re quite intoxicated and the Commander would be put out if something were to happen to one of her ambassadors.”

“Right,” Clarke says, linking their arms. “You’d do this for any member of the council.”

“Exactly.”

They both smile to themselves.

When they get to Clarke’s bedroom door, Lexa hesitates. “So…”

“Yeah?”

“Did you learn much about _Badannes Sintaim_ tradition?”

Clarke quirks an eyebrow. “Was there much to learn? It’s a day set aside to celebrate loved ones. Sweet—but there aren’t many conceptual layers there.”

Lexa laughs. “You’re so glib.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Clarke says, grinning. She lets her door fall open and leans against the jamb. “Wanna come in?”

Lexa nods and follows Clarke inside.

After a couple minutes of fumbling about in the moonlight for some candles, she manages to get a few lit, washing the room in soft firelight.

Lexa clears her throat then, cutting through the silence. “I have something for you.”

Clarke pauses before turning, shaking out a match. “Tradition, huh?”

“Celebrating loved ones,” Lexa whispers, her eyes trained on her hands, which are suddenly clasping a tiny box. “This, of course, is a recycled present, so it’s not really a big deal, but—” She stands from the couch and crosses the room to Clarke. “I want you to have this.”

It’s the box of crayons.

“Lexa, I—”

“Please, Clarke. I know why you don’t want to take the gift, and I understand why you think you need to punish yourself by abandoning the things that make you happy. But watching you suffer—watching you while away each day in dispassion—is unbearable. Take all the time you need to forgive yourself, but don’t starve your soul.”

Clarke presses her lips together and blinks slowly. After a moment, she wordlessly takes the box and cradles it against her chest.

Lexa raises an eyebrow and grins lopsidedly, clearly delighted with herself.

Shaking her head, a tiny laugh escaping, Clarke says, “I have something for you, too, actually.”

The smugness fades instantly, replaced by mouth-gaping surprise. “Really?”

“Well, yeah. It’s pretty small, though. I made it while I was stuck in my room this past week, and it’s kinda silly but I—”

“Clarke,” Lexa urges, impatience coloring her usually composed tone. “I wait with bated breath.”

“Okay… but you have to close your eyes.”

Lexa makes a show of squeezing them tightly shut.

Clarke retrieves the flower crown she wove out of Sol’s flowers and some small white buds she’d found in the forest from the windowsill.

Lexa’s biting her lip and fiddling with her shawl when Clarke steps back in front of her. As she settles the wreath on Lexa’s head, Clarke whispers, her voice impossibly soft, “ _Ai heda_.”

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat.

“You can open your eyes now,” Clarke says, still whispering.

When she does, Lexa’s eyes are bright and her pupils are wide with wonder. She tentatively brushes her fingertips over one of the flowers. “Thank you,” she says, her voice quivering with emotion.

Clarke opens her mouth to say something—anything—to take her mind off the sudden airlessness of the room, but, before she has the chance to speak, a horn bellows in the distance.

The spell is instantly broken, and Lexa’s face hardens with seriousness. “News must have spread.”

Drunk as she is, Clarke doesn’t understand what that’s supposed to mean. Still, she follows after Lexa, who rushes out of the room and flies down the tower stairs with impressive speed given the gown she’s wearing.

They reach the ground floor just as Indra and Octavia burst through the main doors. They’re both panting, and Octavia’s clutching the bugle in her fist.

“Indra,” Lexa greets. Her voice is even, betraying nothing. “What is the meaning of this?”

Indra cocks an eyebrow and scans the room, holding eye contact with several bystanders. “The Ice Queen is dead.”

As shocked gasps ripple through the crowd, Lexa reaches behind her, fingers searching for Clarke, who takes hold of the Commander’s hand and gives a reassuring squeeze.

###

The next morning, a quick meeting of the council is called.

As Clarke’s making her way to the throne room, she hears her name echoing through the hall. When she turns, Octavia is running right for her.

“Clarke,” she says breathlessly, skidding to a stop and leaving a few feet of distance between them.

Though she hasn’t thought about the Tondc bombing in months—too distracted by all the other lives on her conscience—Clarke is suddenly assaulted with sense memories, brought to the forefront of her mind by Octavia’s angry stare. She can smell the burning flesh, hear the desperate cries for help…

“Um, hey,” she says, shifting uncomfortably.

With a sigh, Octavia closes the distance between them and pulls Clarke into a short and awkward hug. “I’m glad you’re still okay.”

“It’s nice to see you,” Clarke replies. When they break apart, a strained silence lingers. “So...are we good?”

Octavia nods, her expression finally softening. “We’ve all made stupid decisions under pressure. I mean, I still don’t like what you did, but I can respect it.”

“Um, thank you?”

Octavia smirks and stands on her tip toes to muss Clarke’s hair.

She exhales in a rush, relieved to have at least one weight lifted off her chest. “How’ve you been? How’s everyone back at camp?”

Instead of answering, Octavia’s lip curls with disdain.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“People are still kinda freaking out about Skaikru joining the coalition. Just a few days ago, some of the guards pulled a knife on Indra.”

“Holy crap, is she okay?”

“Please,” Octavia waves off Clarke’s concern. “She neutralized those idiots in, like, two seconds flat. It was actually pretty awesome; you shoulda seen it.”

Laughter bubbles past Clarke’s lips, though her uneasiness isn’t totally assuaged. “Oh, well, good.”

They fall into step together, walking down the hall in silence.

As the quiet wears on, Octavia’s presence starts to niggle at Clarke’s homesickness. What she wouldn’t give to hug her mom….

“So,” Clarke says suddenly, making Octavia jump. “How was your first night in Polis?”

She instantly becomes more animated, her eyes lighting up. “So cool! This place is unreal.”

“That’s one word for it.”

Though just a few weeks ago Clarke’s words would have been bitter and hostile, she finds herself smiling fondly.

“Oh, before I forget,” Octavia says, tugging a piece of paper out from the waistband of her pants. “Raven wanted me to give you this. She told me to tell you that if I don’t come back with a response, she’s going to tell everyone your dark secret.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, accepting the letter and scanning the contents.

“So,” Octavia prods after a beat, “what’s your secret?”

“I don’t have a secret.”

“Yeah right.”

“I don’t.”

“Whatever. I’ll just get Raven to tell me anyway.”

Clarke smirks but doesn’t say anything as they approach the throne room’s double doors.

As soon as they’re inside, Indra waves Octavia over. After pausing to stick her tongue out at Clarke, she bounds across the room and takes her place at Indra’s side.

Once the rest of the ambassadors file into the room, Titus calls the meeting to order.

“All rise for your Commander.”

Lexa bursts through the doors and makes her way to her throne as everyone stands. Clarke’s eyes sweep over her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and her pursed lips.

She’d bet money that Lexa didn’t sleep at all the night before.

In the moment of noisy shuffling when everyone’s settling back into their seats, Lexa’s gaze lands on Clarke, who flashes the Commander an encouraging smile.

In response, Lexa lifts her chin and affixes a look of total composure to her face.

“As you all have heard by now,” she says once the room quiets, “Queen Nia’s fight is over.” Mummers ripple through the room. “We must have patience with the Ice Nation as they grieve and choose a new leader. I expect every single clan to show their support and respect.”

The Ice Nation ambassador clears her throat and stands. “Excuse me, but…how did Nia die?”

“Investigations are ongoing. All we know at present is she was shot down during a speaking engagement.”

“I have a different theory,” the ambassador says, sneering.

Lexa’s eyes flash dangerously, but she doesn’t say anything, only stares the ambassador down.

“Watch your tone,” Titus warns. “You are in a delicate position already, Ambassador Kayi. Let’s not forget why the last Azgeda representative is no longer with us.”

Kayi’s nostrils flair. “I will not be threatened into silence. I simply mean to point out the suddenness of Nia’s demise and that our _noble Commander_ had the most to gain from her displacement.”

“Insubordination,” Indra roars.

Titus takes a threatening step forward.

“Please,” Lexa says, holding up her hand to subdue both Titus and Indra. “While it’s true Nia and I shared personal animosity—”

Kayi cuts her off. “Yeah, we know she killed your girlfriend. But she also threatened your throne, didn’t she _Heda_?”

Suspicion buzzes through the room and people start to exchange whispered conversations.

Clarke can see the vein in Lexa’s neck throb with the effort it’s taking her to stay calm.

Suddenly overcome with fury, Clarke stands with such force that her chair tips. “Hey,” she shouts, “ _Enough_!”

The room goes silent and everyone stares at her in shock.

Clarke clears her throat, unnerved to have everyone’s attention so abruptly, and her eyes find Lexa’s of their own accord.

The Commander looks as stunned and curious as everyone else, but there’s an undercurrent of some other unreadable emotion.

After taking a steadying breath, Clarke says, “Our Commander has made countless difficult decisions in the name of her people. She offered the Ice Nation a place in this coalition when it meant putting aside deep personal pain. She welcomed Skaikru even though she knew there’d be backlash.” She speaks in a measured tone, taking care to meet every one of the ambassadors’ eyes. It’s not lost on her that this is the first time she’s had their rapt and receptive attention. “We’re _all_ here because she’s a revolutionary leader. She takes risks for peace, but she’s never given us reason to be distrustful of her judgement or leadership ability.” Clarke pauses, her gaze boring into Kayi. “So I would think long and hard about throwing around accusations that smear the Commander’s name with only hearsay to back them up.”

She doesn’t exactly get a standing ovation, but the other ambassadors nod in approval and then bow their heads respectively at the Commander.

Kayi smiles tightly at Clarke before following suit. “Of course Azgeda is loyal to the Commander, and _of course_ we welcome and appreciate the coalition’s support in this period of grief.”

There’s a light blush coloring Lexa’s cheeks, and she licks her lips before saying, “Thank you Kayi, Ambassador Griffin.”

Octavia lets out a low whistle, and Indra jabs her elbow into her second’s side.

Clarke’s legs feel hollow, so she lowers herself back into her seat, heat rushing into her cheeks.

Lexa clears her throat. “I trust Azgeda will let us know if there’s anything the council can do prior to the coronation of a new leader.” Kayi nods. “Excellent. So long as no one has any more relevant questions or concerns, we will table all discussions until our regularly scheduled meeting.”

When nobody says anything, she nods at Titus.

“Meeting adjourned,” he says.

The members of the council move for the door in a rush, shooting curious glances in Clarke’s direction and talking amongst themselves.

“I think I know your secret,” Octavia singsongs as she pushes past.

“Shut up,” she says under her breath.

Octavia smirks.

“Clarke,” Lexa says. “If you could spare a moment…”

“Of course.”

“Mhmmm,” Octavia hums under her breath before sauntering out of the room.

Titus is the last to leave, and he shoots Lexa an annoyed look before sweeping from the room.

Lexa stands from her throne. “Thank you. What you said just now…thank you.”

Clarke sucks on her lower lip and nods, unable to look directly at Lexa.

“It was a nice speech…if a bit overstated and dramatic.”

With an indignant gasp, Clarke’s head snaps up. When she finds Lexa grinning playfully, she rolls her eyes. “Look who’s talking. _Ambassador Griffin_ —could you have been more formal?”

Lexa casts her eyes toward the ground. “I may have overcorrected.”

Clarke feels her heart pound faster in her chest as she watches Lexa shuffle her feet and grin bashfully at the floor.

“So, uh, lunch in the Grand Hall?” she asks.

Lexa glances up, frowning. “I’m afraid I have a meeting with Titus. There is much to prepare.”

“Right. Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You can spend time with your friend, Octavia. I imagine it’s been some time since you’ve had the opportunity to catch up.” There’s an edge of regret in Lexa’s voice that makes Clarke’s stomach flip.

“Done and done.” She reaches out and squeezes Lexa’s forearm before walking for the exit. When the guards open the doors for her, though, she lingers a moment longer. “Have a nice meeting,” she says.

As soon as the words pass her lips, she wants to kick herself for how stupid she sounds.

Lexa grins, clearly delighted. “I will. Have a nice lunch.”

Feeling flush from head to toe, Clarke nods and scurries away.

###

Flustered by her own awkwardness, Clarke makes her way through the lunch line in a daze.

She’s so preoccupied—and not even kind of looking where she’s going—that she almost lands face-first into her bowl of stew when a stool skids out into the aisle, cutting off her path.

“Care to join us, Wanheda?” Indra gestures at the space in front of her with a smirk.

Octavia snickers. “That is, if you’re not too busy removing your lips from the Commander’s ass.”

Clarke can feel her face burning, but she slams down her bowl and perches haughtily on the stool.

“Aw, come now,” Indra says, “We’ve upset her.”

“She might have to run and tell her mighty girlfriend.”

They snicker.

“Did you guys invite me to sit with you just so you could make fun of me?”

“Not just,” Octavia says, grinning mirthfully.

“Alright,” Clarke says with heavy sigh, standing to leave.

Indra catches her wrist. “Stay. _Beja_.”

Eyes narrowed with suspicion, Clarke lowers herself back onto the stool.

“It was good of you to back the Commander just now.”

“Wait…are you paying me a compliment?”

Indra cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t repeat myself,” she responds.

Octavia leans across the table conspiratorially and whispers, “Lexa must’ve told her to be nicer to you in their meeting this morning.”

Indra grabs Octavia by the collar and tugs her back into her seat. “Training your disobedient keister will send me to an early grave.”

“I was just kidding around,” Octavia says, her eyes going wide. “Was that seriously what Lexa wanted to talk to you about?”

Rolling her eyes, Indra drops her spoon into her empty bowl and rises from her seat. “You know me better than to think I’d follow such an order.”

Then, with a wink, she sashays away.

Clarke shakes her head. “How do you spend so much time with that woman and not develop a complex?”

“Ah, she’s not so bad. Definitely takes some getting used to, but I like that she doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

“That’s certainly something you two have in common.”

Octavia sits up taller, pleased by the comment.

Clarke smiles to herself before digging into her lunch.

“So, are you and Lexa dating, or what?”

“Excuse me?” Clarke asks, sputtering.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious you like each other. That’s why you’re here in Polis, right?”

“I’m here in Polis because Arkadia needed an ambassador, not because I’m trying to date the Commander. Christ.”

“Fine, whatever.” Octavia cocks her head. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

Clarke glares across the table.

Octavia scowls right back, unrelenting.

With a sigh, Clarke says, “No, we’re not dating. Neither of us has any time to do stuff like that.”

“Well why not? Shouldn’t we be making a point to do stuff like that? Even the tiniest bit of happiness is worth it, right?”

“How’s your thing with Lincoln? That pesky kill order been lifted yet?”

Octavia’s lips pucker and she levels Clarke with a stare that could create polar ice caps. “Why don’t you ask your commander?”

Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose. “Crap, I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you again. Talking about Lexa…she’s a touchy subject for me.”

After considering her for a second, Octavia nods once. “She did leave us for dead at Mount Weather. Must be weird to have a crush on her with that history.”

“God, why is everyone so intent on reminding me of the bad things Lexa’s done in the past? We’ve all made crappy decisions in the name of surviving down here, and she was just doing what she thought was right for her people.”

Octavia smirks. “You weren’t kidding about the whole touchy thing, huh?”

Clarke laughs once without humor. “I’m serious. Why is everyone so quick to villainize her when we’ve all done equally shitty or worse things?”

“Dunno. Guess it’s easy, you know? People don’t like what they can’t understand, and most of our people don’t actually want to take the time to understand the Grounders.”

“Well that’s dumb. We pretty much _have_ to live with them. You’d think people would accept that.”

“Maybe they will…they just need time.”

Clarke pokes at the vegetables floating in her stew. “Yeah. I just wonder how many more people will die in the process.”

“Wow,” Octavia says, forcing all the air out of her lungs in a rush. “You are a real bummer, you know that?”

“Comes with the whole leadership gig.”

“Are you really that unhappy?”

Clarke bites her lip, thinking about the question. “Yes…and no. Everything is just so complicated, and I never know if I’m doing the right thing till after I’ve already made decisions that affect a bunch of people’s lives.”

After a moment, Octavia says, “We should do something fun!”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, you do remember how to have fun, right?”

“It’s been a while,” Clarke says. “My fun muscles might have atrophied.”

“That’s what you have me for.”

“Okay,” Clarke agrees after a second’s hesitation. “What do you want to do?”

“You’re the one who lives here, not me. What do Grounders do for fun?”

“Well…there are a few bars.”

“Clarke, it’s barely the middle of the day,” Octavia says, eyeing her with worry.

“I’m just throwing out suggestions, jeeze. There’s also this street corner where a group of older Grounders play some pretty intricate board games, and sometimes I go to watch and see if I can learn the rules. We could hang out there.”

“Slow down, you party animal.”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck you.”

Octavia laughs. “Relax. I’m kidding. Well, not about that suggestion being _lame_. What else you got?”

Clarke rubs her temples. “How about I just show you around, and we can pick something to do together.”

“Now you’re talking,” Octavia says, standing. “C’mon. Indra told me there’s a shooting range somewhere in town that lets you have knife throwing contests.”

“You had a place in mind, and you still watched me struggle? You’re a little jerk.”

“I wanted to see if you knew of something cooler, which you _clearly_ don’t. So c’mon; let’s go! I bet I can hit smaller targets than you.”

Clarke pushes out of her seat and grins. “Oh, you are so on.”

###

The morning Clarke’s given a clean bill of health, she grabs her art supplies and ventures into the Polis forest.

She’d spotted a magnificent tree located on the outskirts of a small, flowered clearing during one of her walks that she’s been itching to climb. It has a prominent, low-hanging branch that grows straight out of the trunk for several meters and then gently curves upward, creating the perfect seat.

Though it’s probably inadvisable, Clarke wastes no time carefully shimmying up the trunk with her sketchpad and box of crayons gripped in one hand.

By the time she finishes the short climb, her abdomen aches and she’s panting heavily, but the view is stunning, all sunlight filtered through a canopy of rich jade leaves and grass bowing to the gentle breeze.

Clarke clutches her supplies to her chest and inches herself backward along the branch till she’s resting in the wooden cradle.

Letting her feet dangle in the open air on either side of her, she flips to a clean page in her pad and plucks the vivid blue crayon from her box.

Ever since Lexa’d insisted she take the coloring utensils, Clarke’s been drawing every day. Though she’s definitely rusty, getting back into her hobby is like stitching up a wound. No matter how much time passes since she’s last done it, her hands remember exactly what to do.

She’s just finished getting the shape of a bluebird’s beak right when there’s a snapping noise nearby and the rustle of birds flying away en masse, including her subject.

“Who’s there?”

Lexa emerges from the tree line across the clearing. “It’s just me.”

Clarke let’s out a sigh of relief. “You scared me.”

“I see that. It’s inadvisable to be out here without a weapon, you know…and to call out to your would-be attacker. I expect more from you.”

Clarke scoffs, and Lexa smirks.

“I’m not unarmed. I’m great at improvising weaponry.”

Lexa laughs softly. “Ah, yes. How foolish of me.” She steps up to the trunk of the tree. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not,” Clarke says, flipping her sketchpad shut and making more room.

Lexa’s clearly an experienced tree climber. She clambers up the trunk quickly, and Clarke admires the graceful way the muscles in her arms and shoulders flex under her thin and lacy shirt.

“This is a lovely spot,” she says, surveying her surroundings once she settles her back against the tree trunk and crosses her legs.

Clarke hums in agreement. After a moment of serene silence, she asks, “How did you find me?”

“I was looking.”

Clarke laughs and shakes her head. “Any particular reason?”

“Yes, actually.”

When Lexa doesn’t elaborate, Clarke pokes her knee with the toe of her boot. “And...?”

Lexa ducks her head, color pooling in her cheeks. “We received the official invites for the Azgeda coronation today.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It is. I’ve never been to one before—Nia’s been queen for as long as I can remember—but the ceremonies are legendary among my people. There’s a formal ball and a blood oath and the Ice Nation is home to the most extensive collection of pre-cataclysm relics. It’s going to be a three-day extravaganza, though, with travel, we’ll likely be gone just over a week’s time.”

“Great!” Clarke says, plastering a smile on her face. She’s trying to sound sincere, she really is, but she’s already imagining what she’ll fill her free time with for a week without Lexa. The very thought makes her heart crash with disappointment.

“You’ll come, too, right?” Lexa asks, studying Clarke’s face with a crease between her eyebrows. “You _are_ invited.”

“Oh…really?”

Lexa nods. “All the ambassadors are welcome.”

“Great,” she says again, this time with genuine enthusiasm. “When do we leave?”

“In two days. That’ll be just enough time to secure things here.”

“And find a gown,” Clarke adds. “Hey, do you think I can recycle my outfit from the summit?”

“If you’d like.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’.”

“Well, that was more of a solemn event. This is about celebration, about forward motion. We should find you something bolder, brighter.”

“Whatever you say. I don’t want to commit some kind of Grounder fashion faux pas.”

“Trust me. I’ll ensure that you don’t.”

Clarke smiles and tugs on the end of one of her braids.

When Lexa speaks again, it’s so muted she nearly misses it. “I’m pleased that I’ll be sharing this experience with you.”

Clarke’s skin tingles as she meets Lexa’s tender gaze. She doesn’t know what to say so she just nods.

After grinning at each other for an infinite moment, Clarke clears her throat. “Are you…I mean, do you have much going on today?”

Lexa shakes her head. “There is nothing pressing to see to.”

Contented, Clarke pulls her sketchpad and crayons out from behind her back. “Want to be my model, then?”

Lexa’s eyelashes flutter. “I would be honored.”

“Terrific. You should, uh, get comfortable. We’ll be here a while.”

Sweeping her hair over one shoulder, Lexa lets her head fall back against the trunk of the tree, folds her arms across her waist, and closes her eyes. “How’s this?” she whispers.

Clarke’s already grabbing the chestnut-brown crayon eagerly. If she shades lightly, she’ll be able to capture the silken texture of Lexa’s hair.

“Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think here or on [tumblr](http://catty-words.tumblr.com/)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters or the universe, just having fun with them.  
>  **Author's Note:** surprise! it’s been quite some time since i updated. my poor, overworked beta, [tk](http://tkross.tumblr.com/), has been striving tirelessly to edit this especially long chapter for me in her (very limited) free time, so please send her some love if you enjoy this!  
>  if any of you are keeping track, which i kinda doubt seeing how long it’s been, you’ll notice that the overall number of chapters went up by one because i can’t control myself when it comes to these two. i mean. this chapter is 9,000 words. that should be proof enough.   
> fair warning, there’s a bit of an angsty end to the chapter, but - fret not! - there is so much fluff on the horizon. i promise.

It’s the last night of the three-nights-and-four-days trek to the heart of Azgeda territory, and Clarke wakes with a start, her heart pounding.

The gruesome images from her nightmare flash before her in the pitch darkness, and she bites down hard on her tongue to keep from crying out and disturbing the other people in her tent.

Once her eyes adjust to the minimal light, she fumbles for her boots and then hurriedly tiptoes her way around the sleeping bodies.

Earlier that day, she’d seen snow for the first time, but—after several hours hiking through sleet—it’d lost some of its majesty. As soon as she steps out into the bitingly cold, crisp air, though, her breath catches in her throat.

Moonlight is refracting off the snow-covered ground, and—with the undisturbed, white blanket stretching out as far as she can see—Clarke feels like she’s been dropped into a different world.

She takes measured steps forward, the snow crunching under her feet, and strays far enough that she can only just make out the glow of the dying embers in the fire pit and the blurry suggestion of tents when she looks back at camp.

If she closes her eyes, she can almost convince herself she’s the only person in the world.

Of course, closing her eyes only brings back the hundreds and hundreds of bodies from her nightmare. Clarke can see the children’s faces so vividly. The scent of rotting flesh is so thick in the air she can practically taste it, practically feel their blistered skin under her fingertips as she checks for pulse after pulse.

Suddenly, there’s someone beside her placing a hand on her shoulder. “Clarke?” Lexa asks, her voice gentle.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” Clarke says, jerking out from under the touch and training her eyes on the ground.

“I see,” Lexa says, disbelieving. She tentatively reaches out and uses one frozen fingertip to coax Clarke’s chin up.

She doesn’t resist, but she focuses her gaze away from Lexa’s face.

“You don’t have to pretend, you know. Not with me.”

Though she tries to resist, Clarke’s eyes finally land on Lexa’s. There’s nothing but empathy and forgiveness waiting for her.

And just like that, Clarke’s sobbing and falling into Lexa’s arms, tucking her face into the warmth of Lexa’s neck.

With a pained whine, Lexa wraps her arms around her, cradling the back of Clarke’s head and rocking them gently back and forth.

“I’m here,” she repeats over and over. “You are not alone.”

Once Clarke manages to gain some degree of control, she sniffles out an explanation. “Had a…b-bad…dream,” she says, hiccupping.

Lexa nods. Then, after a beat, she says, “I have them often.”

Clarke takes a shuddering breath and then pulls away from the hug.

Lexa immediately lets her go, arms falling limply at her sides, but doesn’t quite manage to arrange her wounded frown into a neutral smile before Clarke sees.

Her heart lurches.

With a soft sigh, Lexa lets her head fall back, fixing her stare on the stars.

Clarke smiles sadly and then follows suit.

After a moment of silence she says, “It’s been seventeen days since my last one…I can’t believe I actually thought they were gone for good.”

Lexa hums in understanding.

“How long have you had yours?”

“There are several. They all come and go.”

“Oh.”

“One started after I killed a human for the first time. I also have one for Gustus…one for Costia.”

Clarke bites her lip and, without taking her eyes off the night sky, reaches for Lexa’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

Lexa squeezes her fingers. “We’re all haunted by something, Clarke.”

“I wonder if it was like this before, too; if people on earth have always been troubled by these things. I mean, I guess they’d have to’ve been, or there would be no need for nuclear warfare.”

They glance at each other in unison, and—even though her eyes are glistening with unshed tears—Lexa’s responding smile takes Clarke’s breath away.

“It’s nice to pretend they had it easier, isn’t it? That means there’s hope it’ll get better for us.”

Clarke rubs the pad of her thumb gently over the joint at the base of Lexa’s and says, “There’s hope. Even when it’s hard to find, there’s always hope.”

Lexa’s tears run over, but she’s still smiling.

After she gives Clarke’s hand another squeeze, they fall silent for a while.

“We should sleep,” Lexa says finally, nodding her head in the direction of camp. “It’s cold, and we still have a day of travel ahead of us.”

“Yeah.”

They walk back hand-in-hand, only parting when they get to the semi-circle of tents.

“Sweet dreams, Clarke.”

“ _Reshop_ , Lexa.”

Though it takes a while, Clarke finally falls back asleep, the memory of Lexa’s arms around her the only thing that keeps the nightmares at bay.

###

By the time the caravan from Polis arrives at the Ice Dynasty’s home, Clarke feels positively crusty from all the travel.

Disheveled and cranky from her night of fitful sleep though she is, she can’t help marveling at what could be appropriately described as the ‘Ice Castle.’

“It really is something, isn’t it?” Lexa asks, stopping beside Clarke as the guards and other ambassadors keep filtering past on their way inside.

“Major understatement,” Clarke says as she stares with wide-eyed wonder.

Before her, a four story building made of weathered stone towers. Snow clings to all the fissures and scabs in the façade, and the giant icicles hanging from the roof eaves glint ethereally in the light of the setting sun.

Wooden turrets that are obviously much newer than the rest of the building rise on either side—Clarke can just make out the guards perched up there, protecting the Ice Nation—and giant flags featuring the Azgeda symbol flap in the gusting wind.

Still ogling, she shifts the weight of her pack and follows Lexa inside, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that she’s walking into the heart of enemy territory.

The inside of the Ice Castle is as grandiose as the outside. The ceiling rises high over her head and more Azgeda flags adorn the walls. There’s a large fireplace radiating heat to her left, and, after four days spent exclusively outside, she has to employ some serious self-control to keep from charging for it immediately.

There are several sculptures tucked in the corners of the room that pique her interest, as well, though she’s not close enough to read any of the plaques.

“Welcome to Azhou,” a slender, tall, lithesome man says, stepping up to greet Lexa. “It’s an honor to host the mighty Commander and her delegates.”

“The honor is ours,” Lexa says, grasping the man’s forearm firmly.

“My name is Guia. I understand this is your first time visiting our humble abode?”

Clarke snorts—this place is anything _but_ humble—and Lexa shoots her a warning glare before responding.

“That’s correct.”

“Well then, it is my special pleasure to lead you all on a tour of our home before showing you to your rooms.”

That gets Clarke’s attention. Suspicious as she may be of the Ice Nation, she’s also wildly curious about what’s being kept in the city walls.

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll get started.”

Guia leads them through the lobby with a grand flourish of his arms, and they come to a stop in a hallway that extends for several meters on either side of the group. Clarke gasps when she sinks into the floor, and looks down to find it covered in thick, faded-red carpet. Though it’s tattered and stained, it’s easily the most luxurious material she’s ever seen.

“To your right,” Guia says, snagging her attention back, “you’ll notice several doors. Those rooms belong to members of the Azgeda army and handmaids. They are off-limits to guests, but if you’re feeling so inclined, you can visit the wing to view the pre-Cataclysm painting, ‘The Flower Carrier’.”

She takes an eager step in that direction, but Lexa catches her wrist, smiling knowingly. _Later_ , she mouths.

“Follow me to the left. Down this wing, you’ll notice more private rooms, which members of the Azhou staff occupy, and these double doors here lead to our reception hall where you’re all welcomed to join us for the pre-Coronation banquet tomorrow evening.”

“The Ice Nation’s really big on pageantry, huh?” Clarke whispers in Lexa’s ear.

Lexa promptly shushes her, barely taking her eyes off Guia.

Clarke smirks when she notices the rapt attention with which Lexa’s listening to the tour, and she remembers her excitement for this visit.

The coronation is important to her, and not just as the Commander of the twelve clans.

Clarke purses her lips, holding back her snarky commentary.

“Before we make our way to the second story, you’ll notice a room here, to the left of the staircase…observe the pit in the ground. Apparently, prior to the nuclear war, humans would fill large holes such as these with water to be used for recreation.”

Surprised murmurs ripple through the crowd.

“Why would humans need a man-made pond?” The Glowing Forest ambassador asks.

Guia smiles, chuckling benignly. “We know very little about the tradition. Our historians theorize that the water was somehow cleaner or more suitable to constant use, but they are only speculating. In any case, the crater remains empty these days. However, we do keep the room open as a place for reflection. It also serves as the antechamber to our rare collection of pre-war relics. All we ask of guests is that you use extreme caution when visiting as the ground is made of concrete, which we have found freezes easily. One wrong step can lead to severe injury, and we’re so hoping you enjoy your stay here.”

Distrust pricks at Clarke’s neck, raising the fine hairs there, but when she looks to Lexa for her reaction, the Commander is nodding along politely.

“Let’s move on, shall we?”

When no one responds, Guia leads them into the stairwell.

Though the white paint is faded and the metal railings tarnished, Clarke can’t help recoiling at the sterile feel of the corridor, and she sucks in a deep, relieved breath when they step out into the second floor hallway.

“These rooms are occupied by the Queen’s advisors and cabinet members and are, again, off limits to the public. To your left, you’ll notice another painting: ‘Café Terrace at Night’. Please feel free to return to this hall during your free time in the coming days to read what little we know about the artist. For now, follow me to the Grand Balcony.”

The crowd shuffles forward to the middle of the hall, where the wall to Clarke’s right falls away. Letting out a low whistle, she steps up to the wooden railing and looks out over Azhou’s lobby.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Guia asks, responding to the tour group’s collective gasp. “This is my personal favorite spot. That painting is entitled ‘The Last Supper,’ and it is a reference to a scene from the scripture of an outdated sect of Earth religion.

Confused, Clarke takes her eyes off the people mulling about below her to look at the wall in front of her. There’s a large painting of several people gathered on a single side of a table prominently displayed against a backdrop of exposed brick.

Sun has faded the coloring in some places, but the painting is otherwise in pristine condition. She can’t help wondering how the Ice Nation was able to procure so many priceless pieces.

“As I’m sure you’re all tired from your days of travel,” Guia says, derailing Clarke’s train of thought, “Allow me to lead you to your rooms on the third floor.”

He takes them to the other end of the hall, into a second, nearly identical stairwell, and as soon as everyone’s filed out into the third floor hall, he wraps up the tour.

“Thank you all for your patience. Please note the fourth floor is off limits as that is where our Queen and members of her guard stay. I know you are all anxious to meet our new leader, but you’ll have to wait till tomorrow during the official activities.

“All the rooms in this hall are for guests. Feel free to pick one at your leisure. Water for bathing can be retrieved from the well out back. The Coronation itinerary will be posted in the lobby tomorrow morning. If you have any other questions about Azhou or our available accommodations, you can find me in my lobby office. May you rest well.”

Pandemonium erupts as people rush to claim rooms.

Clarke hangs back, and Lexa bumps shoulders with her.

“What did you think?”

“Short tour,” she says neutrally.

“Were you expecting the history behind each brick?” Lexa cocks an eyebrow.

Before Clarke can shoot back a retort, Guia approaches.

“Heda,” he says, bowing his head. “We have a special room reserved for you. This way please.”

As he leads Lexa away—her guards trailing behind them—she turns back to Clarke and waves. “Goodnight.”

“See you in the morning,” Clarke says.

She remains in place long enough to watch Guia escort Lexa into a room in the center of the hall, then, after the Commander and her entourage disappear inside, finds her own bedroom with a resigned sigh.

Though the Azhou staff has strung heavy curtains over all the windows, there’s an insistently cold draft throughout the building, so Clarke’s dismayed to find that her small room features not one, but _two_ holes in the wall.

The single-person bed is draped with several fur blankets to compensate for the chill, and the room is covered in the same thick carpet as the hallways.

There’s also a cracked full-length mirror, a modest chest, a rickety bedside table, and a bathroom.

Clarke can’t even remember the last time she bathed in a bathroom she had all to herself. It’d have to have been back on the Arc…before she’d been imprisoned.

Feeling suddenly giddy, she collects the bucket sitting under the basin and navigates the halls of the Ice Castle on her own for the first time, looking for a way to get out back and find the well Guia mentioned.

Thankfully, there’s a clearly marked door on the first floor, and a line of torches illuminating the short path. Clarke’s able to collect water pretty quickly before finding her way to the lobby.

There’s an iron pole with hooks large enough to support her bucket affixed over the fireplace and several pairs of insulated mittens hanging on the wall. She slips some on.

After her water’s steaming, Clarke gingerly removes it from the heat and toddles back to her room, trying not to spill.

She prepares the bath, strips, and then perches on the edge of the basin, dipping her toe into the water. Even though it all but sears her skin, Clarke impatiently lowers her body into the tub with a contented moan.

She lies, soaking, until her palms and feet are pruned and the water’s room temperature. Then, as the bath drains, she ties her wet hair up into a lopsided bun and bounces her way across the frigid room to her pack.

In preparation for the trip, Lexa had ordered a Polis tailor to make Clarke a special pair of pants lined with downy animal fur. Now, as Clarke’s skin pimples with uncomfortably intense goosebumps, she understands why Lexa had insisted upon the gift.

She hurriedly dresses in the pants, her slippers, and a long-sleeved tunic that has a fur-lined hood before climbing up onto her bed.

After sitting in silence for several minutes, Clarke starts to feel stifled by the stillness of her surroundings.

She could draw…but her fingers are probably too frozen to get a proper grip on the crayons. She considers getting under the covers and reciting all the bones in the human body till she’s bored enough to sleep, but that idea just makes her more restless.

Giving up, Clarke gets out of bed and sticks her head into the hallway: everything’s quiet and the only people she can see are the guards stationed outside Lexa’s room.

“I’d like to speak with the Commander,” she says as she approaches.

The taller of the two cocks an eyebrow at her, but he must recognize who she is because, with a roll of his eyes, he knocks on the door and says, “Someone wishes to see you, Heda.”

A moment passes before Lexa opens her door. “What is—” She cuts off. “Oh, Clarke. Please, come in.”

Clarke flashes the guard a smug smile as she closes the door behind her.

“Is something the matter?” Lexa asks.

She’s wearing a dark green, fuzzy wrap with a deep V-neck, and Clarke has to forcefully drag her eyes away after a moment. “I, um, couldn’t sleep,” she says sheepishly.

“More nightmares?”

“Well, no. I just…it’s very cold.”

“We’re in the Ice Nation, Clarke. Were you expecting sweltering sunshine?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s night. Secondly…I’m _cold_.”

Clarke can practically hear Lexa’s understanding click into place.

“I’ve heard it said,” she ventures, “that the body heat of two is the perfect remedy to a brisk night.”

Clarke tilts her head innocently and licks her lips. “Why, Lexa, are you asking me to spend the night in your bed?”

“If you’d like,” Lexa says, grinning. Then, after a moment, she gets serious. “I know we’ve spent the night together before, but this _would_ be a little different.”

Clarke nods once solemnly. “That’s true.”

“So?”

She tugs at the hem of her shirt, gazing fixedly at her hands. “As long as _you’re_ okay with it…”

“I am _more_ than okay with it, Clarke. I would not have offered otherwise,” Lexa says, and Clarke looks up just in time to see her glancing away and biting her lip.

“Were you working on anything before I rudely barged in on you?” Clarke asks after clearing her throat.

“I was getting ready to turn in, actually.”

They grin at each other, and Clarke moves to the bed—which is much bigger than her own, she notes with equal parts relief and disappointment.

Lexa extinguishes the smattering of candles around the room before joining her.

As they slide under the covers, Lexa once again keeps a respectful amount of distance between them.

Clarke doesn’t close the gap this time, but her heart pounds ardently in her chest.

Just before she succumbs to sleep, she reaches out, fumbling until her palm curls around Lexa’s searching fingers.

###

Clarke wakes up when a ray of sunlight streams through the curtains at just the right angle to make her squint.

There’s something soft and warm pressed against her, and it takes several disorienting moments for her to remember where she is.

When she does, Clarke gasps aloud and her eyes pop open. Thankfully, the sudden noise doesn’t disturb Lexa, who—Clarke realizes—is the soft and warm lump in her arms.

With a sleepy sigh, she snuggles further under the covers and pulls Lexa closer.

Her top’s shifted over the course of the night to reveal her shoulder, and Clarke takes a moment to appreciate the collection of freckles that pepper the smooth slope of skin before she nuzzles into the crook of her neck and takes a deep breath.

Lexa smells musky—like sleep and campfire smoke.

“That tickles,” she says, stirring.

“Sorry.”

“S’okay.”

“Should we be getting up?” Clarke asks.

Lexa rolls onto her back and Clarke props her head up on her elbow.

“Not just yet,” Lexa answers, her voice soft and her eyes trained on Clarke’s. “Though I will have to soon; I’m expected to meet with the new queen before the official ceremonies tonight.”

“Right. Official leader stuff to be worked out.”

Lexa narrows her eyes, searching Clarke’s face like she can’t tell if she’s poking fun or not.

“There _is_ ,” she all but pouts.

Clarke laughs a big belly laugh and Lexa’s lips curl into a soft smile in response before she runs a fingertip over the curve of Clarke’s cheek.

“You have a stunning smile.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows, feeling blood rush into her face.

She’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the door.

“Good morning, Heda,” Guia says. “I’m here to collect you for your meeting with the Azgeda court.”

Lexa jerks out from under Clarke, practically falling off the bed. “I’ll be out momentarily,” she says in the booming voice of the Commander.

“Yes, of course. Do take your time.”

Gritting her teeth, Lexa grabs some garments from the chest and rushes into the bathroom.

“Do you know what you’ll do today before the ceremonies begin?” she asks Clarke from across the room.

“I’m really interested in checking out the museum,” Clarke says, flopping back onto the sea of pillows. “Though spending the day in bed has a certain appeal.”

Lexa emerges from the bathroom in her commander cloak. Her hair is tied back haphazardly and wild curls tumble down her back. “You may stay in the room as long as you’d like,” she says, smiling, “but you really should make a point to visit the museum, as well.”

Clarke nods, watching as Lexa straightens her uniform in the full-length mirror.

She’s about to rush out of the room when she pauses, hand on the doorknob. “Would you…if you’d like help getting ready for the ball, I’ll be back in my room just before sundown.”

“Okay,” Clarke says. “You can make sure I’m not a disgrace to Grounder couture.”

“I’ll be certain to handle you with care,” Lexa says. Then she flushes cardinal-red, her eyes going comically wide. “Wellanywayhavefuntoday,” she says in all one breath and then practically rips the door out of its frame making a hasty exit.

Clarke sits in the bed for a while longer, a bemused smile on her face, before she reluctantly goes back to her own room to get dressed for the day.

###

Though the Old World artifacts in the Azgeda museum are fascinating—she’s particularly taken with the book entitled _The Diary of a Young Girl_ and wishes she could snap a picture of the car engine to send to Raven—Clarke can’t seem to focus on anything but the court proceedings she wasn’t invited to.

She knows she can trust Lexa to negotiate on behalf of Skaikru, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling anxious. After all, who knows what the new Ice Queen’s agenda is?

After walking through the small hut of relics twice, Clarke gives up trying to be patient and sneaks into the stairwell that leads up to the fourth floor. She’s sure to guide the door shut so the click of the latch doesn’t echo throughout the corridor, giving her presence away, and then inches up three flights of stairs as noiselessly as she can.

She crawls up the last few steps on her hands and knees because, just as she suspected, there are two guards stationed at the entrance.

While she’s wracking her brain for a way to distract them, she hears a door open and Guia say, “Sargs, Vakt, lunch has been served. Come help yourselves.”

Clarke grins, almost unable to believe her luck, and then rushes to catch the fourth floor door before it closes, locking her out.

A peek inside reveals an expansive room. Gold thread is woven through the red carpet in an intricate pattern and the walls are painted a cheery yellow. Based on how all the chairs are situated, Clarke can guess where the throne is, though she can’t see it from her vantage point.

People are gathered along the back wall, where a table’s been set with a buffet, and it’s impossible for her to sneak inside without being noticed.

She settles for listening.

Though the room is filled with conversation, Clarke picks out Lexa’s voice easily. She can’t make out every word—in addition to the noise, Clarke’s half a second behind on what’s being said as she translates from Trigedasleng to English—but she _can_ tell that the Commander is agitated. “…be petty…I am simply suggesting…more than earned…childhood rivalries have no place…building a better future?”

Clarke’s stomach flips. Whatever they’re talking about, it doesn’t sound like Azgeda officials are taking Lexa’s side and that could have dreadful consequences for her people. If only she could hear the conversation in its entirety….

The two burly guards start walking toward the door with plates heaped full of breads and smoked meats and leafy vegetables, and Clarke abandons her post immediately, running out of sight just as they reach the stairwell.

Her entire body thrums with adrenaline as she steps out into the third floor hall. Now she’ll be even less able to focus on anything.

Clarke slams the door to her room closed and tries to think of ways to spend the next several hours that don’t involve pacing like a caged animal.

###

After some time spent writing a letter to Raven, walking the halls of Azhou, trying to draw, failing, walking around some more, and then taking a nerve-soothing bath, Clarke gets dressed for the ball.

The thin material of her dress is hardly a worthy adversary for the extreme Ice Nation cold, but it sure as hell looks good on her.

She stands in front of the full-length mirror, admiring the way the silken, purple, long-sleeved slip hugs her chest and arms and torso in all the right places before flowing loosely from her hips to the ground. Strategically draped gauze of various shades of blue is layered overtop.

After spinning around and watching the dress’s skirt fly up one last time, she walks down the hall to Lexa’s room and knocks, receiving a pointed grunt from the one guard.

“Clarke,” Lexa says when she comes to the door. She’s still dressed in her Commander gear and looks a little harried. “Come in. I only just got back.”

“Looks like I have impeccable timing,” Clarke says.

Lexa doesn’t answer. She’s too busy openly staring.

With a pleased smirk, Clarke does a slow turn. “You like it?”

Lexa’s eyes drag slowly up to Clarke’s face. “Hm?”

Clarke laughs, shaking her head and perching on the edge of Lexa’s bed. She tries not to sound too eager when she asks, “How did your meetings go?”

Lexa presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head.

“That bad, huh?”

“Things went adequately. It was tiring, is all.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, waiting for her to extrapolate.

She doesn’t, instead rushing them onto a different topic. “Give me a moment; I’ll change, as well.”

After grabbing a garment bag from the wardrobe, she ducks into the bathroom without another word.

She changes with incredible speed, and—the next thing Clarke knows—Lexa’s standing in front of her in a one-shoulder dress made of shiny yellow cloth. It’s overlaid with a filmy orange fabric, has an incredibly snug bodice, and makes Lexa’s olive skin glow with a captivating radiance.

“Wow,” Clarke manages.

Lexa smooths her skirt down and then tugs on the billowy sleeve. “Thank you,” she says softly, then clears her throat. “Would you like me to do your hair?”

“Please,” Clarke nods.

Lexa crawls up onto the bed behind Clarke and starts combing through the damp tresses.

Clarke closes her eyes, biting back a moan as Lexa’s deft fingers massage her scalp and thread braids with a practiced and steady hand.

She’s not sure how much time passes before Lexa stops because she’s fallen into a meditative bliss, her agitated worry from earlier totally gone.

“You can open your eyes now,” Lexa whispers in her ear.

Clarke does, casting her gaze toward the mirror. What she sees makes her gasp out loud.

Lexa’s styled her hair into a simple ‘do, something surprisingly reminiscent of the way Clarke used to wear it all the time…just with a lot more braids.

“What do you think?”

Clarke smiles at Lexa’s reflection. “It’s perfect.”

“I thought so, too. Now close your eyes again.”

Clarke obeys and the bed shifts under her as Lexa gets off. She hears some clattering from the bathroom and, a few long seconds later, Lexa’s dabbing cool paint along Clarke’s temple and around her eyes.

She tries to hold still, but she’s hyper-aware of the fact that Lexa’s face is inches away from her own. In fact, her breath is fanning over Clarke’s cheeks, making the hair at the back of her neck stand on end.

“All done,” Lexa says after a while.

When Clarke opens her eyes, Lexa’s already halfway to the bathroom.

Sighing, Clarke looks at the mirror.

Lexa’s given her the same paint she had at the summit, except it’s a deep midnight blue that complements her dress.

“Will you do something with this?” Lexa asks wryly, gesturing to her wild curls and handing Clarke several hair ties.

“Of course. How do you want it styled?”

“I trust your judgement,” Lexa says, taking Clarke’s place on the edge of the bed. “I only ask that it’s off my face.”

“I can do that,” Clarke says, wrestling with her dress as she gets onto the bed and kneels behind Lexa.

She takes her time running her fingers through Lexa’s soft hair, relishing the texture.

Even though they’re almost certainly going to be late to dinner, Lexa seems just fine with Clarke’s unhurried approach. Clarke can see the stress leaking out of her body as she gathers all Lexa’s hair, fisting it into a ponytail, only to comb it back out and start over again and again. After several minutes of this, Lexa’s neck lolls back, and Clarke sees there’s a peaceful smile on her face.

Grinning to herself, Clarke starts weaving an intricate lattice of small braids.

“Okay,” Clarke says once she’s finished.

Lexa’s eyes slowly drift open and her gaze immediately settles on Clarke, who gulps when she notices the unrestrained hunger there.

Nostrils twitching, she wets her lips and whispers, “We should get going soon.”

Lexa blinks several times and glances around the room, looking like she’s just come out of a trance. “Right—I’ll just be one minute.” She stands and moves quickly to the mirror.

Clarke doesn’t say anything as Lexa dabs her brush into a tin of black paint and then starts spreading it around her eyes.

When she turns, finished, Clarke’s eyes go wide.

It’s Lexa’s standard, striking mask, except she’s tipped every spike that crawls down her cheek with blood red paint.

The whole ensemble reminds Clarke of a shimmering flame, all fire and ash.

“I believe we’re ready to go,” she says.

A hoard of guards is already waiting in the hallway to escort them to the reception hall, and they fall in line as soon as Lexa flicks her wrist.

“Are you nervous?” Clarke asks her as they clamber down the stairs.

“The Commander is always sure of herself,” Lexa says, throwing her shoulders back.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Okay, sure, but establishing an amenable relationship with the new Ice Queen could be the key future peacetime.”

“And you know I will do everything in my power to make sure that happens,” Lexa says calmly, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Clarke smiles. Even though she never voiced her anxieties, Lexa knows exactly what to say to comfort her.

“ _We_ will do everything in _our_ power,” she corrects, brushing the back of Lexa’s hand with her fingertips.

Lexa glances over at her, a grateful smile on her face.

“That we will.”

###

After a quiet dinner of roast quail, boiled potatoes, and steamed vegetables, the Polis visitors are ushered into several horse-drawn carriages scheduled to take them to the official Coronation location.

Lexa’s stoic on the ride over, her lips pursed as she stares out the window at the night sky. Clarke opens her mouth to ask what’s on her mind, but snaps it shut when Lexa sighs and settles for giving her hand a squeeze.

They pull up to an oblong log cabin with torches illuminating the path to the door.

Inside, there’s a tiled dance floor. Several cloth-covered tables are scattered around the edges, and a modest bar is tucked away in the corner. Lit candles cover every available surface, and a couple openings in the ceiling keep too much smoke from accumulating while allowing the guests to see the stars.

At the furthest end of the building, Clarke notices a simple white throne on a raised pedestal. An ornate pulpit is situated to the right, on which a marble basin and gleaming knife sit.

She tries to keep from gasping out loud as she follows Lexa to the table closest to the throne.

It doesn’t take long before the large room is bustling with people from the Ice Nation and visiting clans, all dressed to the nines.

Clarke almost doesn’t recognize Guia, who is wearing long ceremonial robes and a colorful headpiece, when he takes his place at front of the room, cupping his hands over his mouth and shouting, “Excuse me, everyone! Can I have your attention please?”

After a few seconds, the din quiets down.

“Thank you all for coming! Please enjoy as many refreshments as you like until the formal rites begin in about an hour, and remember—we have carriages on hand to take people home all night. Stay safe and have fun.”

Polite applause sounds throughout the crowd, and Guia bows before ducking into a room off the side of the throne platform. Seconds later, the hall fills with jovial string music.

“See that man leering at the woman with the blue hair and low-cut dress?” Lexa leans in close to ask Clarke, suddenly more animated.

She smirks and follows her gaze. “Who is he?”

“Azgeda Titus, essentially, which means he is both a master strategist and a war criminal,” Lexa says. “His name is Chauvin, he trains wolves to fight each other for sport, and I absolutely loathe him.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows in amusement.

“I have to go exchange pleasantries with him, though. Want to come?”

“Well, since you talked him up so much, I suppose I’ll have to.”

Grinning at each other, they get out of their seats and casually make their way across the mostly empty dancefloor.

“ _Strada_ Chauvin. It’s been some time. I hope I find you well,” Lexa says, sauntering up.

The man sneers. “Ah, Leksa. Always a pleasure.”

“ _Heda_ will do,” Lexa corrects, gripping Chauvin’s hand threateningly tight.

“Yes, of course, Heda,” Chauvin says, bowing just slightly at the waist.

Clarke sniggers.

“And who might this striking young woman be?” he asks, eyeing her slimily.

“You should recognize her; you are the one who issued the kill order on her head, after all,” Lexa says.

Clarke tilts her chin up at this new information.

“This fine individual is the infamous Wanheda, is she? I’m astounded. I never imagined you to be such a classic beauty.” Chauvin holds out his hand.

She clenches her jaw and keeps her hands at her sides. “Gotta hide that hellfire and brimstone underneath an innocent face; it keeps ‘em guessing. That’s my motto, anyway,” she says, smiling a little too wide.

“Erm, yes,” Chauvin says, retracting his hand.

Lexa strokes her upper lip—presumably to hide her pleased smile—but Clarke can still see the way the corner of her mouth twitches.

“Do tell, how is your family?” she asks after clearing her throat.

“Hmm? Oh, yes, Evelyne is still spending all her time running that little jewelry stand of hers, and the kids have been vacationing in Sangedakru territory, learning about the world. The house has been rather peaceful in their absence.”

“And your _pakstoka_?”

“They are healthier and stronger than ever! I’ve started them on a new protein-saturated diet that seems to be bulking them up just right. If only I had more time to spend on their obedience training. Then they’d truly be prize worthy.”

“Why not take the time?” Lexa says coolly.

“Surely you aren’t suggesting…”

“Oh, I always say what I mean. You’ve been _Strada_ to the residing Azgeda queen for four decades now. Don’t you think it’s time to make room for a new generation of leaders?”

Chauvin’s face darkens and he leans over Lexa.

Clarke’s fists clench.

“You should know better than to threaten me, little girl.”

Lexa doesn’t even flinch, just cocks her head gracefully and replies in a calm voice. “You forget yourself, Chauvin. I could kill you where you stand. I could destroy your reputation in an afternoon. However, I’m not going to do either of those things. Neither of us wants this to get messy.”

“So you’re…what? Hoping I’ll respond to you saying ‘pretty please’?”

“Of course not.”

Chauvin narrows his eyes.

“Now would be a good time to remind you that Ontari and I have known each other since childhood. My advice carries a weight with which you cannot compete. She’ll gladly fire you at my recommendation.”

He steps back. “You’re bluffing.”

Lexa frowns. “Forgive me. I thought it was common knowledge that Ontari and I trained as Nightbloods together. We’ve been quite close for years.”

Even though Clarke’s definitely missing some important context, the baffled and fearful expression on Chauvin’s face is still satisfying.

“Oh look,” Lexa says breezily, “General Abernathy just arrived. I must see how her famous boysenberries are growing this year. It was great seeing you, Chauvin. Be sure to consider what I said.”

Lexa hooks her arm through Clarke’s and starts hauling her away. As soon as they’re out of earshot, she lets her giggles loose.

“That was awesome.”

“I did very much enjoy that,” Lexa says, her eyes mischievously bright.

“Who’s next?”

With a delighted laugh, Lexa leads her over to another important political figure.

While they’re in the middle of chatting with one of the Azgeda council members about the alterations that might be made over the course of the new rule, the music in the room suddenly changes. Trumpets demand everyone’s attention and Guia steps back up to the front of the room.

“If everyone could find their seat, the coronation will begin shortly!”

“We should finish this discussion later,” Lexa says to the stout man. “It’s been a pleasure.”

They’re just settling back at their table when the front door crashes open and a young woman in a lacy black gown with a high-necked collar and long train glides in. She has dark hair and raised scars that create haunting shadows on her face.

Two beefy guards flank the girl, carrying blazing torches and eyeing the crowd menacingly.

Everyone in the room watches in silent awe as the girl—the new Azgeda queen—steps up to the throne and kneels in front of Guia.

He starts reciting something in a language foreign to Clarke, dipping his thumb into a tiny jar of salve and painting the Azgeda symbol on the young woman’s forehead.

“What did he just say?” she asks, leaning into Lexa.

She smiles kindly and places her mouth right next to Clarke’s ear, sending a warm tingle down Clarke’s spine when she whispers. “He’s speaking in an archaic form of Trigedasleng. He just said ‘ _strong heart and steady mind to lead us ‘long the wintry path_ ’.”

After Guia’s done drawing the mark, he holds his hand out for one of the guard’s torches.

The girl lifts her chin—looking fierce and determined—as he brandishes it about before passing it onto her. She stands and crosses the altar to a cement pit tucked off to the left of the throne.

Clarke realizes it’s filled with coals just seconds before the young woman bows respectfully and touches the flame to the embers, igniting an impressive fire.

Guia says something else in the ancient tongue, and Lexa whispers the translation in Clarke’s ear: ‘ _with patience and wisdom you keep our hearth_.’

The girl deposits the still-lit torch into a stand on the far left of the altar and then crosses back to Guia, who’s sterilizing the knife Clarke had noticed earlier in the fire of the second guard’s torch. When it’s ready, he places it in her waiting palms.

Even though she knows it’s coming, Clarke still gasps when the young woman slices her palm open with the sharp blade.

Guia says something else as the girl holds her hand over the marble basin and lets her inky blood drip down her wrist.

Lexa doesn’t take her eyes off the front of the room as she translates the last line under her breath: ‘ _with sacrifice you ward off the storm. As you reign, we are given new life_.’

After Guia wraps her cut in a scarlet cloth, the young woman carries the basin over to the fire. Clarke watches, astounded, as she places it in the center of the flame, never even wincing as the fire licks at her exposed hands and wrists.

“All bow,” Guia says, gesturing grandly, “before the newly appointed _Haiplana_ Ontari!”

Everyone pushes out of their seats and falls to the floor on their knees as the girl—Ontari—takes her place on the throne.

###

After a ceremonial dance and a quiet hour of mingling and formalities, the atmosphere in the hall starts to relax into something more fit for celebration. Drinks are consumed and Clarke watches with wonder as the Grounders start jumping around wildly on the dancefloor, looking like teenagers at their first social gathering.

At first, Lexa’s hesitant to join the fun. Clarke understands that she has a public image to uphold, but that doesn’t stop her from pointing out that no one’s going to be paying attention. They’re all having their own fun.

Finally, several pleas and a few mixed drinks later, Lexa agrees to join Clarke in the crowd of dancing bodies.

It’s not long before Clarke is sweaty and breathless. She can feel the alcohol trickling through her system, making her movements messy and keeping her loose as she bounces around.

Lexa seems to be in a similar situation because she’s laughing, beautiful and unreserved, while she spins and sways to the music.

Clarke can’t tear her eyes away.

As the final notes of a song hang in the air, Lexa grips onto Clarke’s shoulders to steady herself. “I am parched,” she yells in Clarke’s ear.

“Want me to get you some water?”

The next song starts, slow and melodic, and Clarke watches Lexa’s throat as she swallows hard. Their eyes meet, and Lexa straightens her spine.

The atmosphere between them changes in an instant. The air in Clarke’s lungs feels thick with electrical charge and the rest of the world slips out of focus.

“Water can wait,” Lexa says, her voice low and gravely.

Clarke feels heat trickle through her and snakes her arm around Lexa’s waist, guiding her closer until their bodies are flush.

“Commander!” Ontari suddenly appears beside them with a feral grin. Clarke and Lexa jump apart.

“It’s a delight to see you here, enjoying yourself.”

Lexa looks livid for a moment—her eyes shining with a ferocity that has Clarke taking an additional step back—before she forces her lips to form a too-sincere smile. “Thank you. And congratulations on your new rank. I’m surprised it took you so long to publically achieve the level of greatness you were always bragging was inside you.”

“Well, we can’t all rely on the reputation of our mentors to get us positions of power.”

Lexa’s nostrils flare at the mention of Anya, and Clarke deftly slides her way between the two girls.

“Queen Ontari,” she says, holding out her hand in greeting. “I’m Clarke. It’s a privilege to be here.”

“I know who you are,” Ontari says, grasping Clarke’s hand in her own. Her skin is covered with blisters, and when she pulls away from the handshake, she scrapes her nails lightly along Clarke’s palm, making her shiver. “Your reputation precedes you.”

After glancing back at Lexa to cock her eyebrow, Clarke says, “As does yours. I hear you and Lexa are old friends.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

There’s a moment of tense silence during which Ontari and Lexa plaster saccharine smiles on their faces and hold forceful eye contact.

“Clarke!” Ontari barks suddenly. “Would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

She takes a second to assess the situation. Clearly Lexa had been exaggerating when she’d described her relationship with Ontari as ‘quite close’ to Chauvin. They definitely have more of a competition than a friendship.

Still, Clarke knows Lexa’s style. She has too much integrity to tout her rapport with Ontari without credibility to back her threats. There must be something in their history that Lexa means to use to her advantage…

“The honor is mine, of course,” Clarke says, offering her hand a second time.

Ontari smirks, her eyes widening with delight as she bends at the waist to give the top of Clarke’s hand a kiss.

She feels her eyebrows shoot up her forehead, and, as Ontari leads her toward the center of the dancefloor, Clarke glances back at Lexa, wanting to gauge her reaction.

But the Commander turns and rushes back to their table before Clarke can read the emotion on her face.

“Lexa hasn’t changed a bit,” Ontari says as they come to a stop. She places one hand on Clarke’s lower back and holds out her other.

Clarke grasps it and settles her free hand over Ontari’s shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“Let’s just say she was foolishly and rapturously in love with the prettiest girl around the last time I saw her, too.”

Blood floods Clarke’s cheeks, but she tilts her head up in challenge. “Are you saying it’s foolish to love?”

“Not unequivocally…but I do think it’s foolish to compromise your judgement when you’re responsible for the whole of the human race.”

“So leaders should just be above feelings, above humanity? You don’t think that makes them _more_ capable?”

“Ah, I see you’re not just a pretty face.”

“Neither was Costia,” Clarke says defensively, though, in reality, she still knows very little about Lexa’s former love.

Ontari takes a second to truly size Clarke up, an impressed smirk on her face. “You’re right. Can we start over? Go back to before I stuck both of my feet in my mouth?”

“You _are_ the queen.”

With a hearty laugh, Ontari dips Clarke, catching her off guard. “So what was living in space like?”

Clarke smiles at the innocent excitement behind the question. “Cramped, mostly. And that was before I was imprisoned.”

“You’re a criminal, are you? I should have known the great Wanheda was born to be bad.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes.

“What was it like?”

“A lot more complicated than I feel like getting into with a stranger. Unless you’re going to command I tell you.” She bats her eyelashes innocently.

“Would you obey even if I did?”

“Not likely.”

“You’re lucky I respect a rebellious way of life.”

Clarke frowns thoughtfully. “How does one with that kind of attitude become a figure of authority?”

“For one, it’s in my blood.”

“And for another?”

“Are you trying to unearth my secrets, Clarke of the Skypeople?”

Clarke snorts. “Please. If I were, you’d have uprooted an entire garden of information by now.”

Ontari raises her eyebrows, and Clarke pivots on the tip of one toe, the skirt of her dress flying out.

“I merely mean to get an idea of your style,” she continues once she and Ontari are swaying back and forth again. “It’s no secret your predecessor thought of my people as disposable, after all.”

Ontari’s eyes are guarded and calculating, and she says, “I respected Nia’s vision, of course. She had so many enemies because she was ruthless and unafraid to go after what she wanted.”

“But?”

After a moment, Ontari nods. “But…she was a stickler for tradition. I have always been interested in making history as a revolutionary.”

Clarke chooses her next words very carefully. “Certainly it’ll be a challenge to bring about change so soon after Nia’s time in power. She had a loyal court of advisors, did she not?”

“That won’t be enough to stop me,” Ontari says, grinning pompously

“Oh?” Clarke asks, tilting her head.

She nods. “In a month’s time, I’ll be given the chance to elect a new court, to surround myself with people who share my vision.”

The last chords of the melodious ballad hang in the air, and then the song is over.

“Well, best of luck to you, Queen Ontari,” Clarke says, bowing. She kisses the queen’s hand before trying (and failing) to walk composedly back to her and Lexa’s table.

Only Lexa isn’t there when Clarke returns. Her brow furrows and she scans the crowd for any sign of the Commander.

If not for Lexa’s bright dress, Clarke probably wouldn’t have spotted her slipping away, wrenching open the door to the cabin without looking back.

###

“Lexa?” Clarke pounds on the Commander’s bedroom door. “Come on; open up!” Silence. “Are you upset...tired?” More silence. “Talk to me, please?” Nothing. “You know I’m going to stand here till you let me inside, right?”

Finally, Lexa says, “It’s unlocked, Clarke.”

“Oh.”

She pushes the door open and takes a tentative step into the room.

Lexa’s pulled a chair under her window and drawn the curtain back so she can stare at the stars. She doesn’t look over at the sound of Clarke’s entrance.

“So, you left in kind of a hurry,” Clarke says after clearing her throat.

“To be alone.”

“But why?”

Lexa turns away from the window, and Clarke sees that she’s been crying, tears tracking bits of black and red charcoal down her cheeks.

For a second, Clarke is too shocked to speak. Though they’ve been in many situations where emotions were running high, she’s never seen Lexa shed more than a couple tears at a time. She’s always unnervingly poised.

As soon as she regains some of her composure, Clarke rushes over, crouches down beside the chair, and pulls Lexa into a hug.

She’s stiff for a moment, but Clarke nuzzling into her neck seems to drive away her restraint. With a tremoring breath, she wraps her arms around Clarke’s shoulders and buries her face in her hair.

“Sorry,” she says after her breathing steadies. “I’m being foolish.”

“No,” Clarke says, drawing back and pointing a stern finger in Lexa’s face. “Everyone cries sometimes, and you are not foolish for being human.”

Lexa swats Clarke’s finger away with a wry smile. “Yes, but I am still foolish for being a petty human.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows, silently inviting Lexa to elaborate.

“Ontari and I…we’ve never gotten along. We’re both driven people, and—while I respect her for her ambition—it has never been great at fostering civility.”

“I noticed.”

Lexa moves to the bed with an exasperated sigh, and Clarke follows, settling next to her and putting a hand on her knee.

“What you saw tonight was barely anything. When we were training together, both so eager to be the best student and the best warrior, we were ruthless. I get embarrassed just thinking about all the nasty things I did to her in name of winning fights or appearing the brightest.”

“I get it. You let competitiveness get the best of you.”

Lexa sighs and hides her face in her hands. “You make it sound so…forgivable.”

“Because it _is_. You were a kid. I did plenty of dumb things as a kid.”

“You don’t understand. I once hit her with a dart coated in hallucinogens to get the best marks in fisticuffs.”

Clarke cringes. “Well, that is kinda intense, but—”

“That’s not even the worst of it,” Lexa says, cutting her off. She uncovers her face to fidget with her sleeve but keeps her eyes trained in her lap. “When word began to spread that I was the likely choice to take over as Commander, our rivalry came to a head. She involved Costia—tried to trick me into thinking they were seeing each other behind my back. Even though I knew Ontari was lying, I lost control of myself. I…Costia was my entire life at the time, and I got possessive.”

“What did you do?” Clarke asks.

“I challenged her to a duel: a fight to the death.”

She laughs.

“I know,” Lexa says, nodding. “It was dramatic and wholly unnecessary. Costia was very upset with me.”

“Obviously neither of you died. What happened?”

Lexa smiles sadly and shakes her head, remembering. “Costia did the right thing and tattled on us. The fight was stopped before it had the chance to begin, but I was ready to kill her, Clarke. I was _eager_.”

“You didn’t, though. And I don’t just think it’s because Costia stopped you. I know you, Lexa. You wouldn’t have gone through with it,” Clarke says fiercely.

Lexa rubs at the makeup on her cheeks. “I suppose I’ll never have to know for sure.”

“Right! So consider it a happy ending.”

Lexa laughs once without humor and a tear rolls down her face, clinging to her chin.

“What’s wrong?” Clarke asks. “Is it just that seeing Ontari again dredged up these bad memories?”

“Seeing Ontari _dance with you_ dredged up bad memories,” Lexa says, barely audible.

“Oh,” Clarke says, her eyelashes fluttering and her skin heating up.

“See? Foolish,” Lexa says, frowning at the wall.

“Well, no, that’s…I mean, I understand. I wish I hadn’t made you cry, though. I only danced with her because I thought I could pump her for information—you know, do everything in our power to build that amenable relationship—and I _did_ find out she’s definitely replacing Chauvin.”

Lexa doesn’t say anything, just nods solemnly.

“I mean, of course I don’t care about her the way I care about you,” Clarke continues, flustered. “Ontari is a stranger, and I don’t know how I would survive without you in my life. You’re very important to me. You’re….”

She trails off when Lexa’s head snaps around, her eyes bright and hopeful. The innocence and beauty there makes Clarke feel like she’s back on the dropship, her stomach swooping with nerves and excitement as she plummets toward earth.

For one long moment, she’s mesmerized—rooted in place by shock and want and a whole messy tangle of emotions.

But then Lexa starts leaning in, her eyelids flickering closed, and Clarke crashes unceremoniously into the ground. The room starts to spin, and Lexa’s red-and-black smeared face reminds her of a very different night that, until this very moment, had felt firmly buried in the past.

Suddenly, Clarke’s head feels heavy, and she finds herself jerking away, standing from the bed. Words come tumbling out of her mouth faster than she can control. “I can’t. Not…I’m not there yet. I’m sorry, I really am. You’re so patient and good, but I need...I just can’t.”

Clarke turns and runs from the room, but not before she has to watch Lexa’s face crumple with disappointment.

Turns out the only threat in Azgeda to Clarke’s tentative happiness is herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think here or on [tumblr](http://catty-words.tumblr.com/)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Author's Note:** happy clexa week everyone! i figured this chapter is an appropriate response to today's prompt: canon divergent/fix-it. thank you so, so much to my wonderful beta, [tk](http://tkross.tumblr.com/), who made sure this was ready for today even though she has so much going on and is eternally the busiest person i know.  
>  please note i've changed the rating of this from teen to explicit...i think you know what that means! i hope you enjoy. :)

“Thanks again for coming on the trip with me,” Clarke says for the umpteenth time since sunrise as they put saddles on their respective horses in the Polis stables. “This is going to be fun.”

“Certainly,” Lexa says.

Things have been tense between them since their almost-kiss the night of the Azgeda coronation two weeks ago. Of course Lexa’s being gracious as ever, but her overly-polite disinterest almost makes Clarke feel worse about herself than having to face off with an angry Commander.

Her brilliant solution to this newfound stiffness is forcing Lexa to take a day off to escort her to the bay.

“And I hear the view is breathtaking,” Clarke says.

“Yes.”

“Maybe it’ll inspire me and I’ll spend some of the day drawing.”

“Perhaps.”

She’s been quite fond of one-word responses lately.

Clarke tugs the saddle’s billet strap too tight and her horse grunts in annoyance. She pats the mare’s neck apologetically before leading her out of the stall.

Lexa’s already mounted her horse and is staring off into the woods with an unreadable expression on her face.

“I, uh, packed us a picnic so we can stay out for a while.”

With a sigh, Lexa turns to her, lips pressed into a thin line and eyes guarded. “So you said.”

Three words…Clarke resigns herself to the fact that that’s the best she’s going to get for now and climbs up onto her horse.

The journey to the bay is pretty quiet. Lexa rides up ahead of Clarke, who’s too focused guiding her horse through all the underbrush to make any more forced conversation.

After a while, the trees start to thin around them and then they’re gone altogether. Clarke finds herself in a field of tall, reedy grass that tickles her calves as she rides along.

Several kilometers ahead, all Clarke can see is the unbroken blue expanse of water.

She takes a deep breath. The air feels tangy and cool in her lungs.

Off to her left, Lexa’s dismounting and leading her horse back to the tree line.

After drawing in another gulp of air, Clarke follows suit.

“Will the horses be okay here all day?” she asks.

“They’ll graze,” Lexa says. “This way.”

Frowning, Clarke follows after Lexa, who stomps through the tall grass with purpose. They walk down a gently sloped hill to where a small, pebbled beach sits at the bottom..

Clarke is immediately enamored with the smooth, vibrant stones of sage green, cloudy purple, and stormy blue. She crouches down, picks up a pink pebble that’s peppered with black blotches, and rolls it between her fingers as she scans her surroundings.

Up ahead, Lexa’s settling herself under the only tree on the stretch of shore. Clarke watches as she pulls a book out of her travel pack, and, after a second of staring off into the water, starts to read.

A little further along, a rocky edifice juts out into the bay, cutting off Clarke’s line of sight. Moss and vines cling to its side and she sees a series of dark openings along the ground—caves.

Out in front of her, the water unfolds. Waves build and crash at varying sizes and the wind off the bay whips tendrils of Clarke’s hair around her face.

After taking a moment to stare, she falls back onto her bum and tugs off her boots and socks. She shrugs off her bag with her jacket and then wiggles out of her pants—which leaves her in a simple, blue t-shirt and some scanty shorts—before scrambling to her feet and charging full-tilt for the gulf.

The water is colder than she expected, and Clarke lets out a surprised squeal as it splashes up onto her thighs, her abdomen, and in her face. Her feet sink into the grainy sand as soon as she comes to a standstill. 

When she turns around to look back at the shore, she notices Lexa staring at her. She grimaces when she’s caught, but doesn’t turn away.

Clarke lifts her hand and waves.

Lexa shakes her head slowly from side to side, and Clarke can just make out the amused smile on her lips. She wants to call out to her, ask her to join, but she knows that’d be pushing things.

With a sad sigh, she pinches her nose and sinks under the water, submerging herself completely.

When she breaks the water’s surface again, she settles on her back, floating with her arms outstretched. She closes her eyes and lets the sun beat down on her.

Clarke’s not exactly sure how much time passes before she swims back to the shore, but she decides it’s time to get out of the water when some dense, gray clouds cut off her sunlight. After taking a moment to dry off and retrieve her clothes and bag from the bottom of the hill, she walks up to the tree. Lexa doesn’t say anything as Clarke sits down to her left, but she does stare at Clarke’s bare legs until Clarke clears her throat softly.

Lexa jolts and immediately focuses back on her book.

Smirking to herself, Clarke pulls her sketchpad and crayons out of her pack and starts drawing the landscape.

By the time the sun’s at the highest point in the sky—trying its hardest to break through the ever-growing haze of clouds—Clarke’s stomach is growling. She retrieves the dried meat strips, nuts, apples, and loaf of bread she brought from her pack and wordlessly passes Lexa her portion.

“Thank you,” Lexa say, just barely audible.

They eat in silence: Lexa using one hand to balance her book on her knee and turn pages while Clarke watches her.

Lexa’s hair is pulled back and off her neck, a mess of braids and curls held up by a red ribbon, so Clarke is able to study the stately line of her jaw unobstructed. She’s imagined kissing the obtuse angle where it starts slanting down toward her chin about a thousand times….

Lexa clenches her apple in her mouth to brush a stray curl behind her ear, eyes unwaveringly focused on her book. The movement makes Clarke startle, and she whips her head around so fast the muscles in her neck twinge.

Just then, a flat, blue-gray creature, the likes of which Clarke’s never seen before, scuttles by on eight legs. She instinctively reaches out for Lexa, clamping down on her forearm and gasping out loud.

“What _is_ that?” she asks, watching with wide eyes as it glides toward the shoreline.

“A crab,” Lexa answers and then pats Clarke’s hand once.

She obediently disengages and asks, “What does it do?”

Though she doesn’t take her eyes off the crab, she can practically feel Lexa’s amused exasperation.

“Exist within the food chain.”

Clarke scoffs at her and reaches for her sketchpad. “I read enough about earth biology on the Ark to know it’s never that simple…I’m going to get a closer look.”

“Watch the pincers,” Lexa says.

Clarke laughs at the random advice but is immediately chastened when she walks up to the thing and sees its sizable claws.

She backs away several steps before sprawling out on her stomach, settling in to observe. The crab darts around and picks at the green plants growing through the pebbles for several hours, and Clarke practices sketching the outline of its body and the shape of the unnerving pincers until she gets them right.

As the day wears on, the shoreline starts to inch back further and further, and she finds another fascination: tide pools.

She’s been sitting cross-legged, leaning over a small puddle with two slender, neon-yellow fish and a handful of miniscule tadpoles for some time before Lexa crouches down beside her.

When Clarke looks up at her in shock, she shrugs. “You were barely breathing. I was worried.”

Clarke lets out a breathy laugh and pats the ground.

After a moment’s hesitation, Lexa sits.

They watch the two fish swim in circles around each other in silence.

Even though there’s plenty of awkward tension, the moment seems significant somehow—it feels like an olive branch. Maybe their relationship isn’t irreparable. Maybe Clarke can atone for her selfishness and they can go back to sharing confidences and burdens and, well, everything.

It takes her a second to work up the courage to glance over at Lexa, but once she does, she finds her already staring.

Lexa’s cheeks go pink when their eyes meet and her throat bobs with a hard swallow.

Clarke’s stomach gurgles with nerves, but she licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “Lexa, I—”

A drop of water plunks onto her forehead and dribbles down her cheek, cutting her off. Both girls look up as a few more droplets fall from the sky and hit their skin, and then, all of a sudden, it’s storming—rain and hail pelting down relentlessly.

“ _Jok_ ,” Lexa hisses before scrambling to her feet and running back to the tree.

Clarke follows, scooping up her clothes and bag before shouting, “Over here!”

Her brain is in overdrive, trying to process everything at once, but she still manages to lead Lexa into the safety of a cave.

They pause in the mouth and look out at the peculiar weather. “Huh,” Clarke grunts after a moment. “Do you think our horses are okay?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Are you suggesting we go back out there?” Clarke asks, incredulous, just as a bolt of lightning streaks through the sky. It’s followed quickly by a boom of thunder so massive, it makes Clarke’s teeth chatter.

“I suppose we’ll deal with the horses once the storm clears. Till then, we should gather as much kindling as we can and start a fire.”

They find a handful of dry twigs and some not-so-dry sticks, moss, and dead leaves around the cave opening.

“Well, it’s not much,” Clarke says, “but once we get it lit, we can get a torch and cover more ground.”

“Good idea,” Lexa says. “What we have now will hardly last us.”

Clarke nods in grim agreement and fishes the book of matches out of her bag.

After a couple failed attempts to get fire to catch to the damp kindling, she pounds her fist into the ground.

“This isn’t working, and I only have so many matches.” They’re silent for a second, holding each other’s sullen stare, before Clarke snaps her fingers. “Wait, give me your book.”

Lexa’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Why?”

“Because we need something that’ll burn easily.”

Her nostrils twitch. “Clarke, do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do?”

Clarke sighs heavily.

“You are asking me to light fire to one of the last known print books in existence. Less than a hundred tomes survived the nuclear apocalypse, and I have already subjected this one to water damage,” Lexa’s voice is low and fierce as she hugs the book to her chest. “You would have me burn it, too? Back in the days these books were written, burning texts was an affront to intellectualism, to curiosity, to the pursuit of knowledge!”

“Just let me see it, drama queen,” Clarke says, tugging the book from Lexa’s grasp.

She watches, tense and ready to snatch the hardcover back, as Clarke flips through the damp, crinkled book.

“As I suspected,” she says, turning to one of the very first pages and holding up the book with a smug smile. “A couple of them are blank.”

“By ripping those pages out you are still defacing a precious, irreplaceable artifact,” Lexa grumbles under her breath as Clarke does exactly that.

Once their meek fire is finally burning, Clarke ventures into the depths of the cave. She brings back some drier branches and dead leaves, which she sets aside for stoking.

Lexa’s sitting cross-legged, as close to the fire as she can be without getting on top of it, and running her fingers over the jagged remains of the pages Clarke ripped out of her book.

Clarke shakes her head, smiling fondly to herself, and wordlessly takes her place on the opposite side of the fire. She lets her head fall back against the cave wall and watches as the rain and hail continue to plummet down with impressive ferocity. Wind whooshes past the cave, making a low, morose howling noise echo around them.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” she asks.

“Could be hours, could be overnight,” Lexa says. She’s back to speaking to Clarke with calculated indifference, and Clarke wonders what went through her head while she’d been searching for more tinder.

Whatever it was, it’s clear Clarke missed her moment. Nature brought a flood and swept away her olive branch.

She hangs her head and fiddles with the straps of her backpack.

Except, no, she won’t accept that. Lexa deserves an apology…they’re being forced to share a small space, possibly for several hours…they’re not likely to have the privacy they do again any time soon. Clarke’s resolve strengthens.

“Listen, Lexa, about the other night in Azgeda, I—”

“Don’t, Clarke.” Lexa cuts her off right away, sounding tired. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We feel different things about each other.”

“That’s just the thing, though,” Clarke starts again.

Lexa talks over her. “I will not lie to you, say I’m fine with it. You would see through me anyhow. That’s why, as you may have noticed, I have been forcing some distance between us. I don’t want you to feel as though you owe me anything. This weakness is mine to bear, to deal with and control.”

“Dammit, Lexa, _stop talking_!”

Lexa’s mouth clamps shut.

“Actually _listen_ to what I’m trying to say because you’ve got it all wrong.” Lexa looks like she’s about to protest again, so Clarke holds up her hand and continues. “I owe you more than I could ever repay, Lexa. Y-you’re the reason I’m alive right now. I owe you my sanity and the safety of my people…and an apology. I never meant to make you think my feelings for you were anything less than what you feel for me. You have to know that.”

Lexa’s nostrils flare and her eyes darken with anger—not the reaction Clarke’s expecting. “How could I, Clarke? After everything we’ve shared, you still turn away when I…,” she breaks off, shaking her head. “Your actions speak louder than any words you could offer, Clarke. We should both accept that this is not meant to work. Perhaps it’s better, more prudent for our people, that we let it go.” 

“No! How could that possibly be better?” Clarke leans forward, anguish bubbling in her stomach. “You say actions speak louder than words, but you’re not paying attention to the right actions. I made you a present for _Badannes Sintaim_. I defended your honor in front of the council. Can’t you see how all the good things outweigh that one slip up?”

“…Can you?”

Clarke feels her cheeks burn and she ducks her head in shame. “Okay, you have me there.”

“That is not an answer, Clarke.” Lexa’s voice wavers, thick with chagrin.

She swallows and rubs at her neck. “I swear I thought I had put that night at Mount Weather behind me. I’ve been defending your decision to other people, and I know I’d have done the same thing in your position. But for some reason…”

“You cannot forgive me for the personal transgression,” Lexa concludes quietly.

Clarke nods—hates herself for nodding.

They sit in pained silence for a second.

“It’s just,” Clarke says, desperate to find the right words to explain. “I trusted you so completely. I wanted us…to triumph, I guess. Show everyone who doubted us that Sky People and Grounders could work well together and accomplish great things. And,” Clarke forces herself to look up, to find and hold Lexa’s gaze. “And I wanted a future with you. It all seemed within our grasp.”

“And then I betrayed you,” Lexa says.

“When I think about it rationally, I know it’s completely unreasonable for me to have expected you to choose a girl you knew for a handful of weeks over your people—the people you’ve sworn to lead and protect to the best of your ability. But when I’m being honest with myself, I know that I wanted…I was hoping…”

Lexa waits patiently, her chest unmoving and her eyes wide.

A tear slides down Clarke’s cheek as she says, “I was hoping you’d have chosen me.”

Lexa’s lips part and her eyes glisten with understanding. She puts her book aside and crawls over to Clarke, kneeling next to her but maintaining a few inches of distance.

Once she’s close, Clarke can see that she’s crying, too.

“I _want_ to have chosen you. I want to be in a position where, even now, I’d be able to make that very decision.”

Clarke reaches out to cup Lexa’s cheek, and her heart swells when she doesn’t pull away. “I understand that you couldn’t.”

“The _Maunon_ and the Reapers terrorized my people for decades. I did not think wiping them out was a possibility. It seemed wiser to ally myself with them.”

“I know.”

“Were I allowed to lead with my heart, there would have never been a question. It would have been you, Clarke.”

“I know. _I know_.”

“Do you really? Here?” Lexa touches two cool fingers to Clarke’s forehead. “And here?” Then her heart.

“ _Yes_ ,” Clarke says, letting the last of her resentment and hurt and hesitation go so she can truly mean it. She palms at Lexa’s hip, trying to get her to come closer.

Lexa yields, but only slightly, scooting just close enough for her knee to brush against Clarke’s thigh.

“I swear I will continue to atone. I will do everything in my power to show you I—”

Clarke, impatient and greedy and _ready_ , doesn’t let her finish. She slides the hand on Lexa’s cheek around to tangle her fingers in the soft curls at the nape of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss.

Lexa wobbles, caught off guard and a bit unsteady, before letting out a relieved sigh into Clarke’s mouth, gripping her shoulder, and pressing into the kiss.

Clarke feels like she’s being cracked wide open, brimming over with every emotion she’d stuffed down or compartmentalized in the last several months. The fear and hatred and loneliness and regret no longer fit inside her because Lexa’s compassion, Lexa’s respect, Lexa’s devotion…it’s all being poured into her, filling the empty cracks and buoying up everything that’s left—all the hope and goodness and _love_.

And, though the storm rages on outside, Clarke can only focus on the way Lexa pants—breathless and needy—as she uses her tongue to trace the shape of her lips, savoring the salty drops of rainwater.

Though their fire struggles to keep burning in the whistling wind, Clarke only feels the heat of Lexa’s body as, after some urging and tugging, she straddles Clarke’s lap and threads her fingers through Clarke’s hair, brushing the lobes of her ears and making her squirm.

Lexa’s hips fit perfectly into the curve of her palms and she gives a possessive squeeze. Lexa’s responding moan reverberates through her chest.

They both break away from the kiss at the same time, gasping for breath. When Clarke is ready to find Lexa’s lips again, though, Lexa ducks her head, nuzzling into the crook of Clarke’s neck.

Unfazed, Clarke pushes her fingers up under the hem of Lexa’s shirt to trace the length of her spine and sprinkles kisses along her jawline.

Lexa’s laughing breathlessly into Clarke’s ear, sending a pleasant tingle from the crown of her head to the pit of her stomach.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, lips pressed against the skin of Lexa’s cheek.

Lexa sits back and studies Clarke’s face, her eyes wide with wonder. “Nothing. There is nothing funny about this moment,” she says with a mystified smile.

“You are a very complicated woman,” Clarke says with a smirk as she slides her hands around Lexa’s body to cup her ribs, brushing her thumbs along the soft, sensitive skin just under her breasts.

The awed smile turns into a tiny ‘o’ of delight and Lexa’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not laughing from amusement,” she whispers, her entire body quivering as Clarke raises goosebumps on her flesh. “I simply feel…too full not to laugh.”

Clarke’s hands still.

“That sounds foolish, doesn’t it?” she asks, peeking out from under her lashes.

“No,” Clarke assures. “No. I just. I know _exactly_ what you mean.”

“You do?”

Lexa’s eyes are bright and she looks so giddy. Clarke sees the remnants of a younger Lexa—a kid with the same innocence and idealism she had back on the Ark—and, before her mind catches up with her tongue, she whispers reverently, “I love you.”

Lexa gasps and then Clarke’s being showered with gentle-yet-purposeful kisses. “I love,” kiss…, “you,” kiss…, “too.”

With harmonious laughter, the girls slide down onto the cave floor in a tangled mass of limbs.

Outside, the storm carries on.

###

A few hours later, the kisses have slowed. Lexa and Clarke are curled together on the cave floor, and, though they’re not quite sleeping, they haven’t said anything since exchanging _I love you_ ’s.

All either of them has left to say is more easily communicated with a gentle caress or stolen kiss.

Sometime in the midst of the blissful haze, the storm stops.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispers into her hair, stirring from her restful trance as a symphony of crickets crescendos outside. “I think it’s safe to go back now.”

“Mmm,” she hums in agreement, tilting her head back to smile sleepily at Clarke. “I believe you’re right.”

After lingering a few minutes longer, they pack up their things and walk out onto the moonlit beach.

The ocean is memorizing, glassy in the limited light, and Clarke pauses to stare.

Lexa steps behind her and wraps her arms around her waist. “This was a truly unforgettable day,” she says, nuzzling her nose into the hollow behind Clarke’s ear.

The sensation and the words ignite a fire inside her.

“We should come back here soon, and, y’know, actually spend the day together instead of pouting at opposite ends of the beach,” Clarke says, forcing her inappropriate urges to the back of her mind.

For now, anyway.

“I’d like that,” Lexa says. After a moment, she adds, “And I was not pouting.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I _wasn’t_ ,”

“Whatever you say.”

Lexa huffs in her ear but doesn’t push the subject.

They stand in silence for another moment before she pulls away from the hug and slips her hand into Clarke’s. “Are you ready to go back?”

Clarke nods slowly and allows herself to be pulled along by Lexa, who is much more familiar with the path back to their horses.

The short trek tuckers her out. She’s hit with her exhaustion all at once, her mind full of half-formed and dazed thoughts, so she’s barely even fazed when there’s only one horse waiting for them.

“I imagine they were spooked by the storm,” Lexa says, approaching the remaining horse cautiously, her hand outstretched. “We’ll have to share.”

“That is the opposite of a problem,” Clarke says immediately, her tongue loose in her sleepy state. She grins suggestively before she’s overcome with a yawn.

Lexa cocks an eyebrow at her, eyes bright with amusement. “And it’s probably best if I do the navigating.”

“Fine by me.”

After tightening the saddle and bridle, Lexa hoists Clarke onto the horse’s back, unties the lead from the tree, and then pulls herself up into the leather seat. “Hang on,” she advises.

Clarke doesn’t need to be told twice. She scoots forward so that Lexa’s back is flush against her chest and wraps her arms around Lexa’s waist. The pinky of her left hand nudges under Lexa’s shirt and rubs teasing circles along the soft length of skin below her belly button.

Lexa shivers—but doesn’t ask her to stop—and clicks her tongue twice to urge the horse onward.

As they plod along the dark trail, Clarke nuzzles her face into Lexa’s shoulder, her nose nudging aside curly tendrils of hair that cling to Lexa’s neck. She smells amazing: like humidity hanging thick in the sky before it rains and smoke wafting from the tenacious embers of a slowly dying fire. It chases all thought from Clarke’s head and lulls her into a hypnotic state. 

They ride in silence for a long while before Lexa asks, “What is on your mind at this very moment?”

Clarke inhales deeply and her eyelids flutter open. She’s about to answer ‘nothing at all’ when she realizes that’s not exactly true.

“Do you remember when you kissed me?” she asks.

“Of course. I’ll not be quick to forget,” Lexa says.

“I was thinking about that.”

Clarke can hear the smile in Lexa’s voice when she asks, “Any detail in particular?”

“Not really. I was mostly thinking…,” she breaks off with a quiet, self-derisive laugh.

“What?” Lexa asks quietly.

“I was thinking that, even then, I misled you…because I didn’t want to face the truth about my feelings for you.”

Lexa sits taller in the saddle and clears her throat. “Which were?”

“When I told you I wasn’t ready for you, that wasn’t right. It was more like…,” Clarke gulps, tugs Lexa even closer, and places her lips right next to her ear. “More like I was scared by how ready I was. You know?”

A soft whine rumbles up from Lexa’s chest and escapes as Clarke kisses the edge of Lexa’s jawline, right in the spot she’s always wanted to.

“I had a similar revelation, except mine spanned several days,” Lexa says, and Clarke can feel the thudding of her heart all throughout her body.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Though I’ve never lived through the experience myself, I imagine it felt quite a bit like hurdling in a dropship toward earth.”

“So…terrifying and deadly. You know, your wooing skills could use a little work.”

Lexa laughs and Clarke closes her eyes, savoring the sound. 

“No, silly. I mean that it felt…inevitable.”

“Inevitable?”

“Right. It was as if the gravity of your soul was so massive, I had no control over myself. I was sucked into your orbit and that sealed my fate.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Clarke’s not really sure what to say, so she just pushes her face into Lexa’s hair and inhales.

“Falling for you was also like falling from the sky in the sense that it happened in an instant,” Lexa says after a bit. “And yet it was like time slowed to a crawl. The moment became infinite, stretching on forever in all directions. You are all-consuming, Clarke of the Sky People.”

Clarke’s cheeks burn at the comment. “You take up a fair bit of headspace yourself, _Heda_.”

Lexa’s silent, but Clarke can feel her gratitude and relief without needing to hear her words.

They make the rest of the journey in contented silence—earth and sky united by inevitability.

###

“Well, this is where I get off,” Clarke says once they reach her room.

There’s no telling how late it is, but the rest of the tower seems to be sound asleep.

Lexa bows her head. “Sleep well, Clarke.”

When she starts to walk away, Clarke scoffs and catches her by the wrist. “Are you freaking kidding me?” she asks before stealing a peck on the lips.

There’s a surprised smile on Lexa’s face when she pulls back. “Right…no need for formalities.”

“We can be as unprofessional as we want,” Clarke says, waggling her eyebrows.

“Well, no, I wouldn’t say tha—”

Clarke kisses her again before she can finish her sentence.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” she asks once the kiss has concluded.

Lexa bites her lip and stares longingly at Clarke’s mouth before nodding. “Of course.”

Once she’s inside, Clarke strips off her damp clothes and slips into a robe. Her exhaustion is coming back tenfold, but going to bed soggy and smelling of musty cave isn’t exactly appealing.

She grabs her bar of soap and a towel before padding down the hallway to the bathing chamber.

Since it’s probably the only time she’ll have the place all to herself, she dawdles soaking in the tub and letting the steamy water return her body to a normal temperature. Then she takes her time drying off and getting ready for bed.

She’s just slid under her covers—clothed in a thin long-sleeve shirt and a pair of shorts—and is about to blow out the candles around her bed when there’s a soft knock at the door.

Of course it’s Lexa, also freshly bathed. She’s wearing a nightgown Clarke’s compelled to describe as _slinky_ and an adorably nervous smile.

Clarke can’t help it. She bursts out laughing.

Lexa’s face falls. “What?”

“It’s nothing, just…Commander Lexa, are you trying to seduce me?”

“I—I mean…that is...I would not want to…yes. Yes, I am.”

“Get your butt in here, then,” Clarke says—exhaustion forgotten—and grins so wide her cheeks pinch.

Lexa ducks her head, cheeks turning pink, and trips into the room.

“This is a bit strange,” she says, bouncing up on the balls of her feet.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Clarke says, closing the door and stepping in front of Lexa. She tangles their fingers together and rises on her tip-toes to give her forehead a kiss.

“Okay,” Lexa says, raising her head to grin impishly. “Still, there is the small matter of you derailing my plan. So, how do you wish to proceed, Clarke?” 

“We could start with you coming to bed with me,” she whispers, her voice low and gravelly.

When Lexa nods, Clarke leads her backward through the room. She slides up onto her mattress without taking her eyes off Lexa and moves till she’s sitting cross-legged on the far side.

Lexa gathers her skirt into a fist—Clarke’s eyes are immediately drawn to her upper thigh—and joins her, draping the nightgown over her lap once she’s settled.

Clarke traces the valleys of skin around her exposed kneecap with one finger and quirks an eyebrow at Lexa.

“So,” she says.

“So,” Lexa responds.

“What exactly was your plan?”

Even in the soft light, Clarke can see the flush crawl up her chest. “Well first I was going to comment on the chill in the air. You know, as a way to establish that we’d be spending the night together.”

“Uh-huh. That _is_ how the clever kids are doing things these days,” Clarke says, grinning slyly.

“Mhmm. Then, once we’d gotten comfortable, there’d be kissing.”

“Is that so?”

Lexa hums, her eyes darting down to Clarke’s lips. “Lots of kissing,” she confirms.

“And then what?”

“That’s as far as my plan goes. I was expecting things to progress naturally from there.”

“Sounds like there’s still time to execute it, then,” Clarke says, shifting so that her knees are pressing down onto the tops of Lexa’s.

Her eyelids flutter closed and her hands grip the bottoms of Clarke’s thighs. “If you’d like,” she whispers.

Clarke doesn’t bother gracing that with a response. She cups Lexa’s cheek and guides her in for a kiss.

Lexa moves at a snail’s pace, pulling away to peck Clarke’s nose every time she tries to deepen the angle or trace the curve of Lexa’s bottom lip with her tongue, and Clarke quickly gets impatient.

After allowing Lexa to play her game for a few minutes, she moves her hands to Lexa’s waist, fists her nightgown to anchor herself—unwilling to break the kiss—and wraps her legs one at a time around Lexa’s back. She hooks her feet together and scoots into Lexa’s lap with a desperate whine.

Lexa laughs into Clarke’s mouth and smooths her palms up her sides before letting them rest on Clarke’s shoulders. “Someone’s eager,” she says as Clarke places nippy kisses down the length of her jaw.

“Well duh,” Clarke says in Lexa’s ear…right before sucking on her earlobe.

With a shuddering breath, Lexa’s head falls back, granting Clarke full access to her neck, which she happily starts exploring.

As soon as Clarke teasingly traces the neckline of Lexa’s nightgown with her fingertip, though, Lexa catches her hand.

“Clarke, wait.”

“Why should I?” she asks before sucking hard on a throbbing vein.

“B-because,” Lexa starts, struggling to form words, “I want—.”

She breaks off with a moan when Clarke sinks her teeth into Lexa’s skin.

“I want, too,” Clarke says, her voice muffled around a mouthful of Lexa.

Panting, she shifts so that Clarke has to get out of her lap and kneels on the bed. “Do you trust me?”

Clarke blinks, confused. “Of course.”

“Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach in the center of the bed.”

She raises her eyebrows at the command.

“It is all part of the plan,” Lexa assures.

“I thought you didn’t have any more plan.”

“ _Clarke_ ,” Lexa says.

Laughing at her whiny tone, Clarke grabs the hem of her shirt and lifts it over her head in a smooth motion.

Lexa gulps when she’s faced with Clarke’s bare chest, and Clarke’s skin tingles under the obvious desire in her stare.

“Still want me on my stomach?” she asks, cocking her head.

After a moment longer of staring, Lexa forces her eyes up to Clarke’s and nods.

Grabbing a pillow to set under her chest, she spreads out onto the bed. Lexa stands to give her room.

The mattress shifts under her as Lexa gets back on and then a weight settles over Clarke’s upper thighs.

With a gasp, Lexa ghosts her fingertips over Clarke’s lower back. “What’s this?”

It takes Clarke a long moment to realize what Lexa’s talking about. She’d all but forgotten about her tattoo.

“Oh, um,” she says, trying to turn around. Lexa places one firm palm against her back, though, and uses her other hand to trace the perimeter of the inky blotch. Clarke hugs the pillow tight and sighs. “It’s a tattoo.”

“I had figured that much on my own,” Lexa says. “When did you get it?”

“After that run-in with my fellow council members.”

Lexa lets out a soft murmur of understanding. “Is it…is it what I think it is?” she asks in awe.

“Yes,” Clarke says.

Though she’d sketched the image of the Trikru symbol created by negative space in a starry night sky hurriedly at the tattoo parlor, the woman who’d drawn it on her skin made it look exactly as it had in Clarke’s head.

“It’s magnificent—the blending of two worlds.”

Clarke’s heart thuds hard in her chest and she nods, her hair tickling her shoulders. It never ceases to amaze her how much Lexa _gets_ without Clarke saying a single word.

Lexa shifts down her legs and plants a kiss in the center of her home clan’s icon at the base of Clarke’s spine.

Clarke shivers.

She doesn’t stop there, traveling up Clarke’s body and placing a tender kiss over every vertebrate in her spinal cord. Her fingers find the empty groves of Clarke’s rib cage and grip tight.

The moan that escapes Clarke is embarrassingly loud, though it doesn’t faze Lexa in the slightest. When she reaches the nape of Clarke’s neck, she nudges her hair over one shoulder with her nose and then nips at the skin behind Clarke’s ear.

Clarke closes her eyes and focuses on the feeling of Lexa’s mouth as she spreads around wet kisses. She’s panting softly, her hot breath teasing Clarke’s every nerve ending, and Clarke’s never felt so alert and so positively disoriented at the same time.

She lets out a whine of protest when Lexa’s mouth disappears—she’s pushed herself up into a sitting position—but at the soft _thud_ of Lexa’s nightgown hitting the floor, the whine turns into a needy groan. She tries to turn and take in the view, but Lexa’s once again insistent that Clarke stays exactly as she is.

She tuts and holds her in place with a steady palm between her shoulder blades.

“ _Lexaaaa_ ,” Clarke whines.

With teasing laughter, Lexa settles herself over Clarke’s body once more. Her warm skin slides over Clarke’s own and she can feel the points of Lexa’s nipples against her back.

It suddenly feels as though molten lava has pooled between her legs.

“We have all night, Clarke,” Lexa says, her voice smooth and tantalizing, “and patience is a virtue.”

Clarke huffs, trying to mask her mind-numbing arousal as irritation, but Lexa sees right through her. She grazes one clipped nail down the length of Clarke’s spine, and Clarke can practically _hear_ her grinning as her flesh pimples from the backs of her arms down to her buttocks.

Clasping onto Clarke’s hips for leverage, Lexa scoots down her legs. Tendrils of her hair tickle at Clarke’s skin as she leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the panther scratch scars on her shoulder to the dimples on her lower back. She then ghosts over the lush curve of Clarke’s bottom before tracing the hem of her shorts around her upper thighs.

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and bites back a whimper.

“This is torture, you know.”

“I know,” Lexa says, smug as hell, and slips her fingers into Clarke’s pants to tease the skin where her ass curls over her legs. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“I’m counting on that,” Clarke says, breathless, as Lexa sucks on a patch of ticklish skin along the inside of her thigh into her mouth.

Clarke lets her make several more circuits up and down the length of her body, covering her with well-placed kisses.

By the time she stops her, Clarke simply can’t take the teasing anymore. She feels as though her very bones are trembling.

“Lexa,” she says, trying to flip onto her back.

“Clarke,” Lexa replies, a warning in her voice.

“You’ve had your fun,” Clarke says. “Now it’s _my_ turn.”

“Oh?” She gets off Clarke’s thighs and folds herself into a sitting position next to her, letting Clarke move off her stomach. Finally.

She takes a moment to stretch and appreciate Lexa topless. She’s lean with sinewy muscles in her arms and stomach and thighs, and—much to Clarke’s exasperation—she’s still wearing a modest pair of shorts.

There’s a raised, long-healed scar that cuts across her bellybutton, but other than that, her skin looks indulgently soft.

“Yeah,” she says, licking her lips and meeting Lexa’s amused gaze. “I’ve picked up on the rules of your game and I wanna try my hand.”

“No cheating,” Lexa says, grinning.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Clarke says, smirking back and moving to the edge of the bed.

With one last pointed raise of her brow, Lexa takes Clarke’s place.

Clarke straddles her ass and looks down upon the expanse of Lexa’s back as her lips part in awe.

“Pretty,” she says, almost to herself, and traces the tattoo that tumbles down the length of Lexa’s spine with one fingertip.

“Thank you,” Lexa whispers.

“What is it?”

Lexa silent for so long that Clarke assumes she’s not going to answer.

“It’s a reminder,” she says at last. “A reminder that the path to power is not traveled alone. Many lives must collide to make you who you are.”

“That’s a hefty reminder for a bunch of little circles,” Clarke says, smiling to herself as she traces the two smallest ones where they sit in the dip at the base of Lexa’s backbone.

Lexa doesn’t answer.

After taking another moment to admire the landscape, Clarke gathers Lexa’s hair in her fist and gives a sudden tug.

Lexa arches off the bed with a gasp and Clarke leans into her, licking the shell of her ear and teasing her teeth along her earlobe.

“Clarke,” Lexa says, her voice caught somewhere between a reprimand and a moan.

“ _Sha_ , _Heda_?”

Lexa’s eyes flutter closed and she swallows hard.

Clarke watches her throat bob with a satisfied smile.

“What did I say about cheating?” she manages to say in a breathless voice.

“I’m not cheating,” Clarke says, kissing her way down a vein in Lexa’s neck. “I’m simply putting my own spin on the rules.”

She hums, clearly not convinced.

“Was I wrong in assuming there’d be bonus points for the most creative use of tongue?” Clarke asks, low and seductive, right in Lexa’s ear.

Her lips part and she exhales with a shudder.

“Well?”

“Proceed,” Lexa mouths.

“ _Sha_ , _Heda_.”

Clarke releases Lexa’s hair from her grasp and gives her a second to shift back into a comfortable position before raking her nails down Lexa’s back and raising puffy red lines on her skin.

Lexa cries out in stunned pain, but, given the way her hips jerk under Clarke, she’s pretty sure it’s also a cry of pleasure.

With a grin, Clarke leans over her and blows cool, soothing air on the scratches.

Lexa squirms.

“Not so fun on the other side, is it?” Clarke asks.

“I’m enjoying myself plenty,” Lexa responds through gritted teeth.

Clarke laughs and then pushes her hand into the hair at the nape of Lexa’s neck, cupping Lexa’s skull as she scatters sloppy, tongue-heavy kisses around her muscular shoulders.

She’s not nearly as gentle as Lexa had been. Instead of soft caresses and sensual kisses, Clarke grips Lexa so tight her fingers leave behind indentations and she uses her teeth as much as her lips to tease at her skin.

By the time Clarke’s tasted every visible inch of Lexa’s back, she has the Commander quivering and whimpering beneath her.

“Clarke,” Lexa gasps, finally breaking.

“Yes?” Clarke asks, skimming her nose along the waistband of Lexa’s shorts.

“I would like to have you inside of me now.”

Clarke pauses and grins. “That can be arranged.”

Before Clarke realizes what’s happening, Lexa’s flipped her onto her back and is hovering over her, fierce determination in her eyes.

“I love you,” she says, eyebrows knit together and a small frown of concentration on her face.

Clarke runs a finger along her cheekbone and leans up to kiss her nose.

Her face relaxes.

“I love you, too.”

Lexa’s responding smile is reverent, and Clarke’s heartrate accelerates. She doesn’t think she’ll ever feel deserving of her Commander’s veneration, but it’s comforting to know she has it anyway.

Her heart feels achingly full as she tilts her head back so that their lips lock together.

Though all they’ve done with their night together is simmer in lust, they take their time with this kiss. Lexa cups Clarke’s cheek and then gradually pushes her hand into her hair, while Clarke’s hands settle on Lexa’s hips, thumbs rubbing up and down the soft curve of her skin.

While kissing soft and slow, they take turns slipping out of their shorts, and then their bodies lock together—free from barriers. 

They gasp at the same time and it’s like someone drops a lit match into a puddle of gasoline. Clarke’s skin is ablaze and her only focus is to consume, consume, consume.

Lexa must feel it, too, because her patient stroking turns to desperate clutching and she mewls into Clarke’s mouth. “ _Nau_. _Beja_ , Clarke.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Clarke says, a wicked grin on her face as the fingers of her left hand dance down Lexa’s lower stomach. She works her hand between their bodies and cups Lexa for the first time.

Her skin is searing hot and slick to the touch. Clarke can’t help the growl that rumbles in the back of her throat.

Lexa shakes above her, pushing herself ever-so-lightly into the curve of Clarke’s palm. “ _Mou_ ,” she says, her voice a cracked whisper.

Clarke nods and spends just a moment indulging in exploration before she pushes inside. She watches Lexa’s face intently as her eyes squeeze shut and her jaw slackens.

“Will you look at me?” she asks, pumping slowly and curling deeper and deeper into Lexa with every pass.

With a whimper, Lexa forces her eyes open and finds Clarke’s stare.

Clarke’s breath catches at what she finds there: eyes dark as a forest canopy just before a thunderstorm.

Nostrils flared and eyes lidded, Lexa starts moving in rhythm with her thrusts, making Clarke moan appreciatively. She builds to a new pace until she’s driving her fingers into Lexa.

With each thrust, she clenches around Clarke, her entire body quivering with the effort it’s taking to hold herself up. When Clarke brushes her clit with her thumb, Lexa comes undone with a spasm and a rush of wetness before collapsing on top of Clarke.

Since her arm is trapped anyway, she lingers and continues to gently stroke Lexa’s clit with her thumb, smiling at the way her body jolts. When Lexa whines, Clarke kisses the top of her head.

It only takes her a few moments to recover from the orgasm, and then she’s nuzzling into Clarke’s neck, leaving a trail of soft, chaste pecks as she shimmies down Clarke’s body.

“It is your turn,” she says huskily, before settling between Clarke’s legs.

The look Lexa gives her from that position is enough to have Clarke canting off the bed in desperation, and it takes all her strength not to come as soon as Lexa drags her tongue over Clarke’s folds.

“Oh…fuck. _Yes_ ,” Clarke says. Her hands find the top of Lexa’s head and her fingers dig into her scalp.

In response, Lexa sucks Clarke’s clit into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the nub, and Clarke loses her grip on coherent thought.

Lexa continues working her over, massaging and sucking and nudging Clarke over the edge into bliss, until there are beads of sweat covering Clarke’s body and she’s throbbing and overstimulated.

They trade places several times before the fire inside Clarke dwindles. By the time they’re both satiated and exhausted, the first light of the morning is trickling into her room.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and then kisses her way up from her place between Lexa’s thighs, stopping to pay special attention to the belly button scar as she has all other times she’s found herself in this position.

“I got that during the first battle of the _Azwor_ ,” Lexa says, gently pushing some hair off Clarke’s forehead. “I was fifteen…I remember because I was visiting Tondc for the first time since I’d been sent to Polis as a nightblood.”

“What happened?”

“Nia had just been denied the request to expand _Azgeda_ territory, and her responding plan was to take more land by force. She started with Tondc because of its political importance. To command _Trigeda_ would mean major bargaining power.”

“You stopped her, right?” Clarke asks, resting her chin on Lexa’s stomach.

“Not right away, no,” Lexa says, and then pauses to yawn. “Nia’s soldiers executed their sneak attack expertly. We never had the chance to gather the supplies for a proper defense.”

“Oh my god.”

“The territory changed command for three days, at which point the commander of the time’s army arrived. They executed all the members of the _Azgeda_ infantry. In the nick of time, I might add.”

Clarke gives the wound another kiss and then flops down onto the bed next to Lexa. “What do you mean by that?”

“My public death by a thousand cuts for being a traitor was just getting underway,” she says, running a finger along the length of her scar. When Clarke gasps in understanding, Lexa meets her concerned gaze and tries to smooth the wrinkles in her forehead with her thumb. “I would not swear allegiance to Nia, so they were going to make an example out of me.”

She says it so plainly, so matter-of-fact. As if the information that Lexa’s probably suffered a hundred near-deaths Clarke doesn’t know about is something easily shrugged off.

“What?” Lexa asks in response to Clarke’s pained expression. “What’s wrong?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I…I think it just occurred to me how easily I could lose you.”

“Ah,” Lexa says, nodding solemnly. “If only we could immortalize each other through the power of love alone. Unfortunately, I believe our mortality is something we are simply going to have to live with.”

“Funny,” Clarke says with a wry chuckle before kissing Lexa’s forehead.

Lexa stays silent, stroking Clarke’s cheek.

Suddenly, her sleepy smile is overcome by another yawn.

“We should rest,” Clarke says.

With a nod, Lexa rolls over and Clarke wastes no time scooting behind her so that their bodies are flush.

Within moments, Lexa’s breathing becomes deep and even.

Clarke tightens her grip around her waist and is about to topple over the edge of consciousness herself when there’s a loud knock at her door.

“ _Bandrona_ Griffin!” Titus’s worried voice reverberates through the room. “Are you there? We can’t find Heda!”

She groans and lifts her head from her pillow. “Lexa?” she whispers.

“ _Bandrona_ Griffin?” Titus repeats, knocking louder.

“Lexa?” Clarke asks again, shaking her gently.

When that doesn’t stir the Commander, Clarke slips out of bed and wraps a sheet around her body.

“Good morning, Titus,” Clarke says with forced enthusiasm, cracking open the door. “What can I do for you?”

“Did you not hear me? The Commander is missing! Her guards found her room empty this morning and we’ve been combing the tower but there’s been no sign of her. Have you heard from her? Do you know where she might have gone?”

“Relax,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes and letting the door fall open a little wider. “Heda is safe and sound, if a bit indisposed at the moment.”

Titus gapes, glancing between Clarke and Clarke’s bed.

“She’s pretty tuckered out, and I’d hate to think how angry she’d be if you woke her right now. I’ll tell her you stopped by, though,” Clarke says, chipper as can be.

He sputters, indignant.

Clarke lets the door fall closed in his face.

As she’s getting back in bed, Lexa stirs. “Who was that?” she mumbles.

“No one important,” Clarke assures her. “Go back to sleep.”

They’re both asleep within seconds.


End file.
